


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

by Regency



Series: A Merry Little Christmas [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Berena Advent 2018, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Drabbles, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Found Family, Marriage Proposal, Meet-Cute, happy holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: All my contributions for Berena Advent 2018!The Latest:Day 14: Where the Lovelight Gleams (II) - Bernie has something to say and she needs Serena to listen.Day 8: Our Troubles Will Be Far Away - If Serena wants to win a snowball war, she's going to need a soldier...Day 16: Christmas Eve Will Find Me - Major Wolfe is all Serena wants for Christmas, not that she knows that right off.Day 20: Snow & Mistletoe - Bernie needs someplace to stay in a blizzard and Serena will never leave her cold.Day 12: Hang a Shining Star - Serena gets drunk as a ferret at Jason and Greta's wedding reception and Bernie is her ride home.Day 17: You Can Plan On Me - Bernie gets to meet her favorite television chef. There are tasty treasures had by all.





	1. Day 1: Let Your Heart Be Light

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything here in ages so I thought I'd try my hands at bite sized (100 words or multiples thereof) offerings for the Berena Advent challenge. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> FYI: I post these in the order I finish them, not in the order they're assigned, thus the day number may not correspond to the chapter number.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena bask in the afterglow of the Christmas season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 1: Gift Wrapping

Bernie and Serena are the last remaining once the festivities at Albie’s have wound down. It’s a shambles: Spilled drinks reflect dimmed fairy lights and wine bottles dribble on messy tabletops while paper crowns dangle from extinguished sconces. The bar’s run dry. They’ve volunteered to sort it and they will—eventually.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” warbles from the stereo, drowning out the rustle of tattered gift wrap underfoot as they sway in each other’s arms. Unbeknownst to either, matching velvet boxes warm their pockets.

Another Christmas miracle.

There’s no rush at Albie’s tonight. There’ll be time for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180689844885/drabble-let-your-heart-be-light).


	2. Day 2: We All Will Be Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena is anticipating a Christmas spent on her lonesome when a certain Christmas elf ensures she has much more to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not technically a drabble but 100 x 10 is like, basically the same thing, right? I shan't follow the rules, it's Christmas!
> 
> Berena Advent, Day 2: Family

Serena’s Christmas Day is quieter than she thought it would be. Jason and Greta have taken the baby abroad to meet her grandparents for the first time and Bernie has returned to Nairobi until at least the New Year, leaving Serena to an echoing house filled with towering ghosts to match her towering fir tree all decked in lights. She posted her gifts early to ensure they’d reach their destinations in time. This mightn’t be the holiday she anticipated, but her loved ones should have a piece of home to wake to with the morning snow.

As she’s considering binning her specially prepared mulled cider in favor of tried and true Shiraz, the doorbell rings. She approaches carefully to squint through the peephole. Can’t be too careful.

“Ric?” He’s sweeping a fine dusting of snowflakes from his shoulders when she opens the door. “What on earth? Aren’t you meant to be in Australia?”

“I’ve been, I had a wonderful time and the kids send their best. But on my way home, a little birdie called to tell me you could use a hand making the Yuletide gay.” He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Serena raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Did they?” She can just about guess who’d have gone to the trouble, loves that woman as fiercely as she misses her for it.

Ric nods seriously, eyes twinkling full of mischief. “Quite. I also had some volunteers. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Heya, boss!” Fletch appears behind him with Ella and Theo perched on each hip, jaunty pom pom hats atop all their heads. “Just in the neighborhood. Thought we’d stop by.” Evie slips around her father to hug Serena tight. She needn’t say anything.

“Hope we’re not too late!” Serena releases Evie to peer around Mikey stood at Fletch’s side. Donna and her kids, bundled up to their necks in scarves, mittens, and puffer coats, have tromped up the drive join the queue. Donna hefts a couple gift bags. “Forgot to give you this at the Christmas party. Figured a visit was in order.”

“Great minds, Nurse Jackson.” Serena's momentarily startled at the addition of a somber voice to the riot. Henrik Hanssen has appeared out of the snowy night, full of looming dignity even in his gaudy snowman Christmas jumper and fluffy earmuffs. If she doesn’t miss her guess, his eyes are just a bit red-rimmed, much like her own. _An empty house for a not so empty heart._ A feeling she knows too well all year round. It’s all she can do not to embrace him. He’d loathe the spectacle.

Serena fights a lump rising in her throat. “I…assumed you’d all have plans.”

Donna beams like a Christmas angel. “Of course we do. We’re doing them right now.”

Serena nods and steps back into the house before they can spot the tears gathering in her eyes. “Well, come on, then. No sense in catching your deaths of hypothermia; you’ve come all this way.” She ushers everyone in, directing them where to hang their snowy outerwear and line up their shoes. She’s glad she saved the cider and kept the food warming in the oven. Now it won’t all go to waste. _Good enough_ , she thinks, heart that much warmer, warmer and fuller, bursting with love. _If only…_ But no, this is enough for now.

Serena sets Mikey and Evie to setting the table while she and Fletch dish up plates for the children. Ric and Henrik take turns reading _The Night Before Christmas_ to the little ones, and Donna drafts her girls to add to the pile of presents still under Serena’s tree. The house is full and loud and busy, so much so Serena doesn’t have a spare moment to wish for what might have been. Not the family she had planned for long ago, not the one she hoped for this year, yet lovely all the time.

When the doorbell rings again, just as they’ve crowded around the dining room table, the others are conspicuously too busy to see to it themselves. With a huff and an eyeroll, Serena tromps back to the entryway to see who it is. _Best not be any more bloody carolers._ Serena’s never heard so many dropped notes in her life. 

“Hold your horses,” she snaps once the knocking’s grown to a fever pitch. “Some people _are_ trying to enjoy family…dinner.” Serena’s ire evaporates in the face of Berenice Bloody Wolfe shivering on her doorstep. Bernie smiles, or so it seems, her red cheeks peeking just over the high knot of her woolen Christmas scarf.

“Hi.”

“You said you had to go back.” Serena chokes on the words. Bernie’s absence had been one of her silent ghosts, too.

Bernie studies her through her snow-flecked fringe. “I got all the way to arrivals and then realized what a rubbish plan that was. Home is here with you. Is that all right?”

“Always.” Serena hauls her partner out of the cold and into a kiss that warms Bernie to her nearly frozen feet. All is right with the world, suddenly. Christmas came to Holby, after all.

“Hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but I was told there’d be food.” Serena reluctantly parts from Bernie to find Jac Naylor and her tiny daughter Emma at her door. From her shoulder bag, Jac produces a bottle of good red and another of white. “I brought booze.” She eyes Emma beaming up at her and amends, with a sigh, “And Christmas biscuits.”

Once they’ve disappeared into the dining room to a chorus of welcome, Bernie and Serena tip into each other, giggling and giddy at this turn of events. A full house, Serena’s got; a madhouse in the making. “Darling, I think we’re going to need a bigger table.”

Bernie kisses the laughter from her lips till it’s an adoring smile and they’re both still, gazing at the only gift either has wanted all year. “We’ll make it work, Serena. We always do.”

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180714565920/fic-we-all-will-be-together)


	3. Day 3: Happy Golden Days of Yore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first Christmas wasn't brilliant, but it had its moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 3: Carol Singing

On the only Christmas they’d ever share as the family they were, there was a still point, a moment of perfect harmony that would warm Serena and keep her for all her days.

Charlotte had trotted into the sitting room after dinner, her dark brown eyes shining and her shy smile replaced by a broad, excited grin. _Bernie’s grin_ , noted Serena. “The carolers are here,” the girl crowed, and Bernie and Cam scrambled after her while Serena and Elinor exchanged dubious looks and Jason ambled curiously behind. The carolers in their neighborhood were of the deeply passionate but distinctly talentless variety, bless their hearts. Still, mother and daughter rose to join their guests huddled together on the front steps, all underdressed in only wooly jumpers and knit-socked feet. They chattered gamely among themselves as the carolers got themselves all sorted, arranging their music and stumbling blindly upon the right key.

 _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_ never sounded so charming to Serena’s ears and she’d heard it, despite her best efforts, for many years. Could be that the carolers had found their stride this late in the day. It could even be the punch-drunk mood she was in. But she rather thought it was Bernie bouncing merrily on the balls of her feet to keep warm with a grown child tucked under each arm, half-singing the words she’d half-forgotten to this song. And Jason beside her, the only one of them wise enough to wear his coat and boots in this weather. Last of all, Elinor who lingered despite claiming—loudly—not to care.

Grimacing as Bernie belted hopelessly out of tune, Elinor sniped in pitiless mockery, “You couldn’t have picked a woman who could hold a tune?” The kindest thing she’d had to say yet and the least provoking.

“Shush, you know I can’t sing either.”

“Can’t argue with that,” her daughter quipped, not remotely for the first time.

Scoffing, Serena hugged Elinor close, and miraculously her daughter permitted her the embrace, snuggling into her as she hadn’t since a child. Eventually, when the carolers switched to _The Little Drummer Boy_ , she began to sing along.

Through all the shouting and the fury and heartbreak that would ensue, and the seemingly endless years of grief to follow, Serena would remember—for a short time, she’d been part of this beautiful family, built precisely this way, and it had been golden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180761606675/fic-happy-golden-days-of-yore)


	4. Day 4: Make the Yuletide Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie takes being Santa Claus in stride, but Serena does being Mrs. Claus _with style_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 4: Mrs. Claus

Bernie returns to their office hours after leaving to complete an emergency splenectomy looking worryingly, and Serena must admit, adorably, befuddled.

“Problem?” she asks. She’s sure she didn’t hear the red phone ring, and Bernie could certainly handle an incoming trauma without missing a step. This is something else.

Bernie lowers herself gingerly into her chair, a sign her back is playing up. The cold weather is kind to neither of their aching joints, and Bernie has more places to ache than most.

“I’m not sure how it’s come about, but I’ve been tapped to play Santa Claus for the Christmas party on Otter ward.” Her confusion seems to deepen upon speaking the appointment aloud.

“What?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I thought it was Sacha’s turn to play jolly old St. Nick for the little ones.” Serena eyes Bernie’s svelte physique, questioning how on earth they plan to reproduce the plushness necessary for Bernie to undertake the role.

“Sacha’s been called into theater unexpectedly; they anticipate he’ll be there into the early morning. So it’s me or no one.” She’s resigned to it, Serena can tell. Rather like a puppy who’s tumbled headlong into a cardboard box and can’t quite climb out.

“Don’t tell me, they brought out an adorable child to guilt you?”

Bernie covers her face. “Several adorable children. In elf shoes. There were bells, Serena. It was rank manipulation at its finest.”

Serena hides a grin. Her big macho army medic is a soft touch for children. “Effective, wasn’t it?”

Bernie grumbles in disbelief, “I’m going to be Santa Claus. Me!” She rubs her temples. “I wonder where I ought to list that on my CV.”

“Under Special Projects?”

Bernie glares across their desks. “Haha, I haven’t the first idea how I’m meant to do this. I don’t think I’ve actually _seen_ a Santa Claus in person since Charlotte got too old to visit one.”

Serena gets up to offer her partner a comforting shoulder rub. “Don’t worry, you’ll be the loveliest, jolliest Santa Claus any of these children have ever seen. All you have to do is be yourself.”

Bernie cranes her neck to squint at her. “Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Just offering some much-needed encouragement at this difficult time.”

Bernie raises an eyebrow Serena would be proud of in other circumstances. “Uh huh.”

Serena raises a shoulder, feigning the most casual of interests. “And trying to keep off the Naughty List. I hear the guidelines are getting rather…strict.”

Bernie swivels her chair to get her arms around Serena’s waist. As if Serena hadn’t wanted it that way all along. “Ah, considering your innate naughtiness, that must be quite worrying.”

“Hush you.”

“Well, let me reassure you, Serena Campbell. You will always be on my Nice List.”

Serena smiles. She loves Bernie Wolfe, ridiculous, goofy, woman that she is—and all hers.

“Besides, didn’t you hear the news? Mrs. Claus can be as naughty she likes, so long as she’s nice to me.”

“Oh, are those the new rules?”

Bernie nod, her expression almost convincingly solemn but for the smile tucked away at the corners of her mouth and the creases deepening alongside her eyes. Serena rubs her thumbs over the ridges of Bernie’s cheekbones, already reddening under the weight of Serena’s constant, loving scrutiny. 

“Mrs. Claus, hmm? And I assume that delightful title is meant to refer to me?”

“It is, yes.” They haven’t made it official, not yet. Maybe it’s time.

“Well, I do have the costume.” Touchably soft red velvet and plush white trim. She even ordered a matching cape large enough to spread out in front of the fireplace, wide and warm enough to encompass two all through the cold winter’s night.

Bernie purses her lips, wets them next. “Is that right? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“That’s the surprise.” Serena lightly strokes the bridge of Bernie’s much-loved nose down to the very tip. “Just you wait. You’re going to find something, someone, _very_ exciting waiting under your tree once you’ve delivered all those toys.”

Bernie’s voice goes hoarse and her grip on Serena tightens. “Happy Christmas to me?”

“A very happy Christmas to us both, darling.” Serena kisses her, light as snow, eliciting a throaty hum from Bernie and a cheeky pinch on the bum for Serena.

“Ho ho ho.”

“Don’t push it, Santa.”

* * *

Bernie questions up until she opens her great red sack to begin distributing gifts how it was that _she_ was the only consultant available to play Santa Claus today.

The children, all patients of Otter pediatrics ward and their young relatives, clamor for their turns in queue, being gently manned by nurses to prevent crossing IV drips and fights breaking out. They’re all sweet-eyed and bright-spirited though some of them are unlikely to see the New Year. Stuffed bears find forever homes in thin, needle-pricked arms. Dolls meet their new best friends. New board games spill across the alphabet carpet in the middle of the floor before her bag is in even empty. Those unable to leave their beds, Bernie visits one by one, presenting them with safe, disinfected toys in deference to their battered, failing immune systems, soft things they can hold as their tiny worlds grow colder and smaller. In those moments Bernie wishes she really were Santa with the power to grant impossible wishes and fulfill impossible dreams. _Sometimes being a doctor just isn’t enough._

She is about to take her nearly empty sack and make a rather conspicuous exit to have a good cry when she’s stopped by a little boy of five or six. He had kept well back of Bernie and her itchy beard, her pillow-padded girth and goose laugh that had sent all the others, children and parents both, into gasping hysterics. He isn’t a patient if his clothes are anything to go by, and he is as hale and healthy a child as Bernie has seen. He’s tugged shyly at the hem of her coat upon the insistence of his dad carrying a small, wan girl cradling a stuffed Daffy Duck in her hands. He has a request, and Bernie can but comply. _Please let this be a wish I can grant._

She sets up shop in a recliner made for the parents frequenting the ward. It’s comfortable as anything gets here. The children line up to tell her their wishes, their new gifts in hand and faces shining. Bernie’s heart is in her throat. She so wants to save them all, knows by the numbers that she can’t, that there simply is no way. But someday there will be, she hopes and hopes.

The little boy, Gerald, climbs into her arms. He regards her solemnly while Bernie waits with bated breath.

“What do you want for Christmas, Gerald. I notice you didn’t take a gift.”

“You didn’t have what I wanted.”

“What did you want?” She braces herself.

He thinks long and hard, face a picture of childish determination. “I want a polar bear.”

Bernie blinks. Of all the things she expected, she hadn’t anticipated that request. “Well, I’m fresh out of polar bears. Could I get you anything else?”

“A Transformer.” Bernie has a vague recollection of tripping over Charlotte’s Transformers constantly throughout the 90s. Cameron hadn’t been a fan of them.

“I think I can oblige that. Is that all?” She’ll have to check if she really does have one in her sack. If she doesn’t, she’ll bloody well go out and get him one. She survived a dessert, what’s a bit (all right, quite a bit) of snow?

He nods his head. “I got everything I wanted. Alice is still here. That’s my sister. Mummy said she might miss Christmas, but she didn’t. Mummy says I should say thank you. Thanks, Santa.” He hugs Bernie around her pillowed middle as tight as his small arms will permit. Bernie hugs him back, blinking away stinging tears.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

All the wishes are like that. Polite and gracious as Bernie doesn’t think she ever could be faced with the possibility of so little time. Some want _more_ stuffed animals. Some want to see their best friends from school. Some want to say thank you for the snow and all the snowflakes as if she made them with her own two hands. They’re lovely, each and every one, and all at once Bernie misses her two children desperately, big as they are. Bernie makes a note of all the other gifts she needs to procure since these children of any should have their fill of Christmas cheer, and readies to go a-hunting when a delicate knock on the ward door draws her attention.

“I heard Santa could do with a hand?”

Serena Campbell in all her caped glory appears on the floor in a red dress that dips at neckline just enough to draw Bernie’s eye and black sheer nylons and matching kitten heels that do some terribly naughty things to her calves. Topping it all off is a very merry grin and a rather becoming white fur hat.

All it takes is for one child to shout “Mrs. Claus!” and the celebration begins again.

With the help of Fletch and Donna on loan from Darwin and AAU, respectively, Serena patiently arranges her little giftees in a line and distributes their gifts one by one. For each ‘Thank you, Mrs. Claus’ they get a wink or a tap on their noses. They run away giggling, their holiday made. For no one twinkles merry like Serena Wendy Campbell. Not even old St. Nick.

Bernie waits till all the children have had their turn to beckon her partner in good tidings to her chair.

Serena greets her with a mock salute. “Mrs. Claus reporting for duty.”

“I think you’ve done more than enough, don’t you?”

“I heard you were in a bind. I knew some elves. Thought I’d render aid.”

“Much appreciated, Mrs. Claus.” She tugs Serena onto her lap where she’s fulsome and warm and beautiful as her smile is saucy and bright. “Which I suppose answers one very important question.”

“And what question is that, Santa darling?”

“Have you been good this year, Serena Campbell?”

Serena loops her arms around Bernie’s neck and cuddles close. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The children raise a collective ‘ewwww’ when they discover all Santa wants for Christmas is a kiss from her missus, but neither of them mind that very much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180795338880/fic-make-the-yuletide-gay).


	5. Day 5: Faithful Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy Haynes makes a new friend on his way to an old safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 5: Puppy

Nominally, Benjy Haynes is Gwennie’s dog, but he spends an awful lot of time at Auntie Serena’s home to belong to the fussy infant. Don’t tell Jason, but Benjy rather likes it there. The house is always toasty warm in winter. Auntie Serena doesn’t even shout when his claws leave scratches on her hardwood floors, and she always throws back the blankets to let him climb in bed with her when it storms. He’s counting on that kindness tonight.

Benjy scrambles up the stairs as fast as his too-short legs will carry him. The thunder is roaring and the house is too empty to stay alone. He noses through Serena’s loosely shut bedroom door (she leaves it like that for him) and totters to the edge of the bed. He whimpers pitifully as the thunder rolls closer. He keeps it up and it isn’t long before a tussled silver head emerges from the woman-made burrow of bedsheets to pay him mind.

“Benjy,” Serena croaks. He yaps in acknowledgment and stands on his hind legs hopefully. “Oh dear, it must be the storm, hmm?” He wags his tail harder. Auntie Serena always lets him cuddle during storms. She looks back over her shoulder at another lump in the bed. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

The other lump shifts and a blonde woman appears, bleary-eyed and blinking till she spots Benjy. “Hello, there. You must be Benjy. I’ve heard all about you.” Benjy sets down on his hindquarters and whimpers, anxious. He’s never seen this human before. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Bernie.” She leans across Auntie Serena to offer her hand for a sniff. She smells strange, like the burning sticks Auntie Serena sometimes puffs on when she’s sad, but kind too. Safe. He shuffles closer.

“It’s the storm,” explains Auntie Serena as she reaches down to scritch his ears. “He hates them.”

“And you two…”

Serena shrugs, red-faced. “He’s a polite bedmate. He keeps me warm.”

Bernie flashes her teeth sweetly and leans over to nuzzle Auntie Serena’s nose. Benjy’s tail begins to thump wildly against the floorboards when Auntie Serena looses a giggle. “I bet he does.” Bernie pats the sheets. “Come on, then, Benjy. Let’s have a cuddle. After all, it’s tradition.”

Benjy discovers his new favorite place during the fiercest storm of the season: snuggled between Auntie Serena and her first best bedmate, Auntie Bernie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180834946740/fic-faithful-friends).


	6. Day 6: Upon the Highest Bough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a not so distant future, Bernie and Serena remain as indestructible as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 6: Mistletoe

_December 2020_

“Do they ever stop kissing,” asks Georgie, Charlotte’s ‘friend’ who accompanied her home for the holiday festivities.

Serena, perched through no fault of her own on Bernie’s lap, and attached truly wonderfully to Bernie’s lips, pulls away to reply, “Not if we can help it.”

Georgie’s blue eyes grow to the size of dinner plates and she rushes to apologize for her gaffe. Bernie waves her off, one of her characteristic chortles rumbling inside her chest to answer the good humor echoing in Serena’s. “No harm done. I was away from home quite a long while and this is the first year Serena and I have resided on the same continent for the long haul, January to December, since, I think, ever. I don’t think the novelty’s quite worn off yet, do you, Mrs. Wolfe?”

“Can’t say it has.” Serena isn’t convinced it will. When you’ve weathered the worst as they have, every day becomes the novelty, and a gift to be cherished. Serena’s been unwrapping her gift each night all year, and she is never disappointed.

“So no mistletoe required?” ventures Georgie, regarding Charlotte out the corner of her eye with something akin to longing. Serena hopes for her step-daughter’s sake both their Christmas wishes come true, that, as she suspects, what they want is the same.

Bernie grows contemplative at Georgie’s question, her expression soft and her hands on Serena’s hip softer, nails scratching at Serena’s wool jumper to ground herself. “I’ve never needed a weed to tell me to kiss my wife.”

“Nor I mine.” Serena’s smile grows with the naughtiness brewing in her mind. Bernie does love when she’s naughty. “ _Though_ I do take suggestions.” She frees herself from Bernie’s lap and sidles to the doorway of the living room where a generous sprig of mistletoe hangs suspended from the doorframe, courtesy of Greta and Serena’s grand-niece, both gone early to bed with Jason to await Santa’s bounty in the early light. Cam and Morven will join them in the morning. “Have we kissed here yet?” A ridiculous question. Where haven’t they kissed in this house? In Holby, Europe, South Africa…They’ve done a lot of travelling since saying ‘I do,’ and there was quite a lot of kissing to do.

Bernie watches her with poorly disguised adoration that causes Serena’s heart to do worrying things behind her breast. Has for years. Will forever. Bernie leaves the couch to join her in her mistletoe musing. “You know, I just can’t remember. Suppose we’d better cover our bases, hadn’t we?”

Serena regards her wife from beneath lowered lashes. “It _is_ a tradition, Bernie.”

Bernie strokes her cheek. “And we’re very traditional, aren’t we?” All that might otherwise render that statement laughable also make it true. Love is love, in and out of time.

“That we are.”

Serena loops her arms around Bernie’s back and meets her halfway for another kiss, no different from the many they’ve shared for what feels a lifetime and no less wonderful for becoming routine. There’s nothing merely traditional about loving Bernie Wolfe. Every other person in history missed out; Serena won’t.

Georgie sighs the sigh of a romantic in bloom in the middle distance whilst Charlotte hides behind her hair and pretends she can’t see the forest for the trees.

“They’re adorable,” Georgie says.

Charlotte exhales softly, pained and longing just the same. “I know.”

She is every bit her mother’s daughter. _May she be every bit as loved,_ although Serena can’t imagine how. But that’s a miracle for Christmas morning; Serena’s got all she needs on her hands for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180855269515/fic-upon-the-highest-bough).


	7. Day 7: If the Fates Allow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Bernie and Serena make their way back to each other, they get even farther apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 7: Waiting

_2019_

Bernie’s second year in Nairobi is not an easy year for their relationship. Bernie is where she wants to be for reasons she would rather not discuss. Serena is in Holby where she is happy enough for reasons she would rather not recall. Dr. Faulkner is elsewhere, the best place for all concerned. Bernie and Serena have decided time apart will do them good, give them space to spread their wings and sort out their priorities. Love is not the problem; everything else, however…

In March of Bernie’s second year in Nairobi and what should be their third year together, Serena receives an offer to teach at Harvard. She’ll be chairing a department at the business school in addition to teaching a slate of advance-level courses to graduate students. The offer is further sweetened by the promise of regular guest lectures at the medical school where Serena can extol the values of the NHS to anyone who will listen. It’s perfect for Serena.

Her first thought, her gut impulse after wanting to immediately accept is to ring Bernie. She gets as far as the second number before her doubts creep in. It’s early days, isn’t it? Trying to navigate the thorny path between being together and being whatever isn’t quite together or apart. They’ve agreed, with twin grimaces and pained understanding, that seeing other people is fair. Maybe Bernie is; Serena isn’t, though not for lack of trying by Donna and other well meaning friends. At any rate, they aren’t actively a couple; she isn’t even sure she could classify them as friends. That’s what hits her hardest—losing Bernie hasn’t merely cost her the woman she meant to marry, it’s cost Serena her best friend.

So she sets the offer aside to give due consideration to what swapping Holby City for Cambridge, Massachusetts would actually mean. It would mean leaving her ward and her hospital at what feels like the worst possible time. It would mean leaving Jason and Greta and sweet little Gwen on the heels of a difficult medical crisis. It would mean putting hundreds of miles more between herself and Bernie who already feels a world away. It would mean, quite possibly, putting paid to the hope of a second chance for them, and that isn’t a decision Serena’s willing to make alone.

“I know you’re very busy, but I’d appreciate if you would call me back. I think we need to talk.”

* * *

The following months proceed in a whirlwind of planning and packing. Greta, Jason, and the baby are installed at Serena’s house. With her grand-niece growing so rapidly, she deduced they could do with the space and in the end they agree. She packs her personal belongings out of the way and sets them up to be kept in storage until she returns. She does her best to recommend locums and adequate full-time replacements to Henrik and Ric, his interim deputy. She has a rocking and shockingly well-attended leaving do where she receives well wishes from every corner and vows to write when she can. She drinks less than she wants, and dances only with Ric and Donna despite receiving numerous offers. She leaves the party early while the music still plays. Somehow doesn’t sob till she’s in her taxi.

She misses home already and all the people in it.

* * *

Serena is thrown into the thick of the academic term with almost no time to prepare. She’s given out-of-date lesson plans from her predecessor who apparently kept all the vital details of his teaching and lectures in his head or on his former graduate assistant’s hard drive, not the least organized or accessible in either location. She’s forced to burn the midnight oil to make heads or tails of educational standards and practices for the school and for her department. She isn’t merely critiquing her predecessor’s work but that of all his subordinates. It’s instructor evaluation season and Serena gets to be public enemy number one her first week in the door.

It’s lucky, in a way, that she’s too busy to notice Bernie doesn’t call to wish her luck on her first day. When she realizes weeks later, it will hurt anyway.

In the end, instructor evaluations conclude without great incident. There are a few probations and not a few badly-needed disciplinary actions. Nobody gets sacked. Someone retires and Serena receives a friendly invitation to the party. She charms a decent bottle of red from some faceless dean’s office assistant when the cheap swill they’re passing around makes her nauseous and is instantly the bell of the ball. She makes friends. She decorates her faculty apartment. She remembers her love of New England summer and autumn and the winter to come. She falls in love with teaching and her students fall a bit for her, her passion, her vibrancy, her in-depth knowledge of business and medicine and the great big world.

Cambridge, Massachusetts has the makings of a place Serena could love, if only there weren’t something missing.

* * *

Serena is ducking out of a presentation on the treatment of incidental vascular trauma during mass-casualty events when she sees Bernie Wolfe in the flesh for the first time in over a year. As it happens, Bernie also sees her. She’s slim as ever, more careworn than not, and so beautiful Serena can hardly stand to look at her head-on.

“Well, isn’t it a small world?” Bernie says as she removes an unlit cigarette from her mouth.

“It is,” Serena agrees, doesn’t allow herself to stare at Bernie’s lips too long.

Bernie puts the cigarette back in its gaping packet. It’s nearly empty. Serena hugs her leather portfolio and wishes to be somewhere, some time else.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Bernie explains, rather needlessly in Serena’s opinion. There’s a medical conference being housed at the BID Medical Center; it’s swarming with doctors who’ve crossed the globe to be here, even more so than any other day.

“In America?” she teases her.

Bernie chortles, a husky sound Serena reveres, captures in her mind and locks there to remember when she can. “There’s a conference on, you may have noticed. I was invited to give a talk on blunt force cranial trauma in juveniles due to explosives and other common munitions.”

“I read your paper on that. You’re doing amazing work in Nairobi.”

Bernie goes suddenly shy. “You read it?”

“I read all your papers, Bernie. I’m interested in everything you do, wherever you do it.” Bernie searches her face, for sincerity or something more, Serena isn’t sure. Bernie averts her eyes when she doesn’t find it. She twists her cigarette pack in her hands till it rips. They both drop to the carpet to retrieve what cigarettes remain. Bernie takes the last one from her, its filter stained with Bernie’s lip balm. When she offers Serena a hand off the ground, she takes it, pretending as she does that her heart doesn’t skip every other beat like a schoolgirl’s when they touch.

“I hear you’ve been lighting a fire under the graduate students,” Bernie offers when they’re on solid ground once more.

“Public policy and patients rights are among my many passions. If I can pass that on to one student I’ve done what I came to do.”

“Good. That’s wonderful.” Bernie visibly seeks out another, safer topic. Serena, at a loss, can’t think of even one. “How are you liking being back on your old trotting grounds? Met any old friends?”

“A few. Not a few enemies as well. But on the whole, I love it.” Serena’s instinctive smile fades when Bernie’s features tighten in response. That was the wrong answer.

“I hear—well, there’s a rumor they’re thinking of offering you a permanent position.”

“Ear to the ground already?” Serena has heard the same, isn’t sure what her answer will be if there’s any truth to it. Standing before her is the reason why.

Bernie crosses her arms for want of something to do with him. She smiles like lightning when it strikes her.

“I’ve heard your name mentioned around the conference. I heard about you during cocktail hour. There’s been plenty of chatter after January, about what you did for Greta in particular.”

“Ah.” Serena tries not to think about Greta on her operating table. The bright, no nonsense woman with her future flying ahead and a daughter who would never remember her if she didn’t survive. Serena had done what any decent physician would do. She has the nightmares to remind her what might have been if she hadn’t.

Bernie’s smile softens. “I always said you were an excellent surgeon.”

“You did. Thank you.” Her greatest cheerleader, the one great love affair of her life. Serena tries not to think about it.

“I did want to ask, since I have you here.” Serena waits. Bernie hunches her shoulders and charges forth. “Would you stay here in Cambridge if they offered you a permanent position? Do you know if that’s something you might want?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“The thing is, you seem happy. Very happy. I haven’t seen you this content since, probably, France, and there was all the wine you could safely drink there and then some.” Oh, how she drank back then, to pain and loss and Bernie Wolfe, to Holby in the hour of its suffering. To herself. She drinks most often just to herself now.

“It’s nice. There aren’t any ghosts here; at least, not any that frighten me.” Edward’s youthful specter lurks around corners alongside the depression of yesteryear that hasn’t a stitch on what she suffered after Elinor.

“So you’d stay. You think you could be happy here.”

“I _am_ happy here. I have friends who care for me and colleagues who respect me. My career has never been better.”

“But?”

“But, I don’t know.”

“A year is a long time to be without someone.” _Even a cheater,_ Serena wants to ask, would were she only courageous enough to hear the answer.

“I used to think distance made the heart grow fonder. Turns out it only makes it lonely.”

Bernie studies her hands rather than look at Serena.

“I don’t have the right to ask. We agreed we didn’t need to keep track—“ Serena interrupts her.

“There’s no one in particular, if that’s what you’re wanting to know.”

Bernie’s shoulders relax a jot. “Nairobi isn’t rife with dating opportunities at present.”

Serena takes an involuntary step back, does her best to quell the spike of panic in her gut.

“Are we having this talk right now?” In the middle of the conference hall. Somehow all their dire moments happen in the public sphere.

“I don’t know when else we’ll ever have it. We’re always on opposite sides of the world. I didn’t want that.” Serena never wanted that, either. But that’s the reality. This is the life they have. Serena sniffs. She’s been putting off thinking about the future, opting to surf through the present on a wave of change. Only some things haven’t changed. Some questions haven’t answered themselves.

“I want to come home, Serena, but not if nobody’s there.” The ball is in Serena’s court and she hasn’t the first idea how to play the game anymore. Bernie nods as if she hadn’t expected anything else. “I have a panel I’m scheduled to sit on. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

“Bernie?”

Bernie turns back. Her nose has gone redder than Rudolph’s and her eyes are watering ever so, yet she attempts a smile. The crack in Serena’s heart in the shape of Bernie’s name yawns wide.

“You knew I would be here. Not just in this town but here, in this facility. Why did you come? You don’t do conferences unless there’s the potential for funding and the NTC doesn’t want for that, so why this one?”

Bernie emits a watery laugh. “You know why.”

* * *

Serena cancels her four p.m. class, ostensibly to attend a panel led by a world-class facial reconstruction surgeon on the importance of frontline first-responder medical technique to long-term reconstructive outcomes, when in fact she’s most interested in one of the honored panelists. Bernie speaks in great detail, at length, about her experience as a frontline army medic, sparing no specifics but for the dignity of her patients to explain her point when she’s right and to correct misinformation when her esteemed colleagues are wrong. Serena learns plenty she hasn’t heard of, far as she is from anything approaching a modern battlefield; however, what sticks with her most is the warmth the fills her chest when Bernie warms to her topic. The smile on Bernie’s face when she speaks of her multitude of successes; her stoic regret, her emphatic kindness when she enumerates lives tragically lost. At this panel Serena learns something she already knew: the one great love affair of her life isn’t anything like over at all.

Bernie catches up to her as she‘s slipping out of the conference hall to attend her office hours (the texts she’s getting from students are growing increasingly testy).

“You sat in on my panel. I wasn’t expecting to see you there.”

“I couldn’t help myself. The chance to see one of the finest trauma surgeons in the world discuss her craft was not to be missed.”

Bernie tucks a hank of curling blonde hair behind her ear. She’s going grey just a little, right there. “I doubt it was anything very exciting to you.” _‘I do this for a living, too,’_ reverberates between them like all the other cutting remarks she had made in anger and in guilt. Too many.

“It was exciting because you were there.” Serena steps in close, near enough to breathe in Bernie’s cigarette scent and coconut shampoo. When she busses Bernie’s cheek, Bernie’s breath catches. “I see you in everything you do. I think you’re magnificent.”

“I…”

But Serena is already hurrying away. She can’t bear to watch Bernie leave. Not this time.

* * *

Serena is gathering drinks for a group of faculty chums at an on-campus university pub when she feels as much as hears Bernie approach. She braces herself and sets her expression as best she can. It will never lie for her now.

“Room for one more?” Bernie calls out, announcing herself, inviting herself into Serena’s world as if she’s never belonged anyplace else.

Serena swallows lest her feelings answer for her. “Always.”

They do anyway.

Bernie and Serena linger on late, just the two of them, outstaying their colleagues in both the medical and administrative spheres. Conversation has run the gamut of Bernie’s military career and her medical background. They’ve discussed complex patient care under less than ideal conditions. They’ve discussed privatization and Brexit and the shambles that is the American healthcare system. They’ve talked, and laughed, and argued like friends all night. Serena’s heart in its most literal physical embodiment aches at the idea she might see the back of this woman. Serena has learned in this year she isn’t anything like the half of a whole, she’s whole in and of herself, but she might like to be half of a partnership again, with this woman as a partner.

They’re contemplating the bottom of a bottle and two glasses when Bernie clears her throat. Serena hates that she instantly breaks into a sweat, her flight or flight response moving her to seek an exit or distraction. Bernie isn’t a threat, as likely as she is to leave a wound.

Bernie rifles through the pockets of her discarded coat and brings out a box, small and square, encased in red velvet. “I want you to have this.”

She sets it on the no man’s land of a sofa cushion that’s separated them all night. A ring box.

For an instant all color washes out of Serena’s world, an instant replay lived in real time. It’s impossible to describe.

“Bernie, what is this?”

Bernie rubs her hands on her thighs as if they’re clammy with sweat. “The ring I told you about before. The one I was ready to give you when, when everything happened.”

“When I cheated.” The flash of hurt in Bernie’s eyes hasn’t changed. It doesn’t haunt either woman any less.

Bernie purses her lips briefly before nodding. “Yes. I’ve had it ever since. Some days I’ve wanted to throw it in the river or sell it or give it away to somebody whose love story seemed less likely to end in tears, but I couldn’t. I can’t. It’s your ring. It’s for you, and even if you don’t love me anymore, I still want you to have it.”

Serena rears back as if struck. “I never said I didn’t love you. If that’s what you read out of my indecision, I am so sorry. It’s not that.” She bridges the divide to grab Bernie’s hand. “I will always love you.”

“Then why won’t you come home?” Bernie lets the façade of careful equanimity she’s maintained since they reunited fall away. She’s hurt, still, and it breaks Serena’s heart to have done it twice.

“I’m scared to come home, because everything waiting for me there is something I cannot bear to lose. I’m a coward,” she says. “That’s the simple truth.” Ugly and hypocritical, and damned complicated.

Bernie turns to her, fully, folding one long leg underneath her. “You’re not a coward, I know you’re not. I’ve seen you suffer the worst and keep going. But I know you, Serena. You have to want to. It has to be worth it to you. It’s just…increasingly obvious to me that I’m not.” When she makes to disentangle her hand from Serena’s, Serena won’t let go. “Please. I don’t know what you want me to say. I feel like we’ve talked at cross-purposes for years.” She implores her, dark eyes pleading, pricking at the sutures only just keeping Serena all together. “Tell me what you want, Serena. I feel like everybody has some idea what you’re looking for right now but me. Jason, Greta, Donna, Dom, Ric. They’re the ones who encouraged me to come out here to see you.”

“Busybodies, all of them. Remind me to shout at them.” This is the moment.

“Serena…” Bernie shuts her eyes. Serena could never bear to see her cry, least of all when she herself was the cause. Serena puts down the glass she’s been clinging to all this time. She doesn’t need the liquid courage any longer.

“There is only one thing I want, one thing I’ve wanted since two minutes after you first kissed me and I ran in panic.” Bernie opens her eyes to see Serena produce a dark green velvet box from her coat pocket and very gingerly shift from the low-slung couch onto the floor. Her knees creak, and they both laugh. This is the moment; she even planned for it. “Berenice Wolfe, I _want_ you to love me for all of my days.”

She opens the box.

Bernie gawps. Whether it’s the moment—inevitable—or the request—brazen—or even the ring—understated like the woman it’s meant to honor, Serena doesn’t know. Bernie searches her expression once again and Serena thinks she knows what she’ll see. “Are you serious?”

Serena squeezes her hand. “About you, always.” Serena’s anxious stomach settles. She finds her nerve and takes out the ring. “Will you?”

Bernie nods, slowly, deliberately. Shell-shocked and yet so willing to do this all again. “I will.”

Serena slips the ring on her finger and is proud of how her hands don’t shake. Bernie lunges for her, kisses her messy and desperate and adoring in spite of it all. Serena has missed her kisses, her love, and not the least her touch. There isn’t a bit of Bernie she hasn’t missed, and therein lays the terror. Serena can never do less than love her now. She haunts Cambridge and Holby and Rhône, all these places Serena loves like home. Bernie carries Serena’s heart inside her; she carries it in her own heart.

“Could I have my ring back, now?” Serena asks once they’ve separated for breath.

“Yes.” Bernie’s hands are steady as stone as she slips the solitaire engagement ring on Serena’s finger. The band is slightly tarnished as if the months have not been kind and it hasn’t always been treated with care. Serena loves it all the same. Serena loves Bernie all the same. And she will love their life together, in Holby, no differently.

Sometimes happiness takes time. At times, it has to wait. Bernie and Serena have decided, here and now, together, that they’ll wait for happiness no more. They’re going to go out and _take_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this could be considered a prequel to the previous chapter, or you can read it as a separate thing. No biggie either way.
> 
> And I incorporated a couple of quotes from Professor Marston & the Wonder Women because I'm Olive/Elizabeth trash. Tell me if you notice it.
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180905032395/fic-if-the-fates-allow-berena-advent-day-7).


	8. Day 10: As In Olden Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't leave it in theater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 10: Hospital Kisses

_They don’t leave it in theater._

Bernie gazes dolefully at Dom, feeling embarrassed at having to come to him for this kind of advice. “I think I’ve got in over my head.” Dom sucks his teeth, doing a crap job of stifling his giggle in the process.

“She too much for you already?”

Bernie neither confirms nor denies his supposition. Dom hums triumphantly, his suspicions confirmed.

“Ms. Campbell won’t say uncle first. You’ll have to fold.”

“What makes you think I mean her? It could be someone else.”

“Not likely. She gives off so many sparks when you’re around the two of you are basically a fire hazard. Watch out those oxygen tanks.”

”Erm, how aren’t you surprised by, you know, us?” Bernie is surprised by them and she’s the one who initiated the first kiss. Serena has initiated every one since with growing passion. Bernie has no idea where this is headed, except unerringly for disaster.

Dom takes Bernie’s confession in characteristic good humor. “You’ve met her; she’ll hit on anything with a pulse. She’s hit on me, for god’s sake, and I’m the farthest you can get from a sure thing without switching species. Serena Campbell being bi is the least surprising thing since you being gay.” That makes one of them.

“It’s just that, we’re basically going at it everywhere, all the time. We haven’t defined things. Is this just letting off some steam or does it mean something?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Bernie Wolfe, here, have we met?”

Dom rolls his eyes. “Right, you’d rather pine and agonize. Must be a gay thing.” Bernie levels a flat gaze at him, unimpressed. “Don’t look at me like that. I know of what I speak. Ask her. Let her tell you what she wants and see if it’s something you want to give her.”

That’s what’s got Bernie running scared. She would give Serena anything; she need only ask. 

* * *

“What are we doing?” Bernie asks between sips of contraband wine. Serena’s lovely in her black and white blouse taking a tipple from her glass and smiling at Bernie over the rim. Bernie doesn’t know if she wants to kiss her or watch her imbibe for the rest of the day.

“I thought we were toasting to our undeniable sexual chemistry.” There’s nothing to deny. They’ve done nothing but confirm and confirm again.

“We could do that,” Bernie counters, gathering her courage, “or…”

“I like ‘or’.”

“You might not.”

Serena waits, her expression suddenly gone unreadable.

“What are we doing, Serena? The kisses, the…”

“Full frontal snogs?”

Bernie nods, for want of a better way to describe their encounters in the locker room and the loo and the on-call room, and on one awfully chilly occasion, the roof at six am.

“I thought we were enjoying each other’s company.”

“I can usually enjoy somebody’s company without getting up close and personal with their tonsils.”

“Were you complaining about the state of my tonsils? I seem to recall you telling me not to stop.” Serena's hands under her scrub top, slipping under her bra to palm her breasts while she kissed Bernie's lips to bruising. No, Bernie hadn’t wanted her to stop. Doesn’t want her to stop. Needs her to stop before Bernie lets slip she’d go on kissing Serena in dark corners like this indefinitely. She’d do more.

“I only want to know how far you intend for us to go.”

“Are you asking me if I’m hoping to hit a home run?” She drags her eyes from Bernie’s lips to her breasts, down her abdomen toward the apex of her thighs as if drawing herself a map. X marks the spot. Bernie swallows a mouthful of Shiraz in the hopes the wine might explain the flush burning in her cheeks. Serena won’t buy it; she knows how Bernie looks turned on by now.

“I need…Serena, is this a passing fancy? Two colleagues working out tension and going back to being friends when we’re not getting each other off, or do you want something else?”

“You kissed me first. Isn’t that your call?” Serena laces her hands together on the desk and Bernie gets the feeling she’s about to be told off like a misbehaving student. The idea nearly makes her laugh. She hasn’t any opposition to Serena’s idea of discipline, has whimpered hearing it while Serena’s hands coursed over her skin, her fingertips teasing at the inseam of her scrub bottoms, close to where she aches but not near enough to satisfy. Serena has no business playing at coyness now.

“You haven’t stopped kissing me since.”

“Could it be that was the hint?” Serena sits back, angling her chair towards Bernie. She doesn’t have Bernie’s lazy sprawl, the one that most mistake for relaxation when Bernie is at her most tense. Serena’s sprawl, if it can be called that, always smacks of invitation. Come have a seat. Come kiss her. Don’t stop there.

Bernie takes a look around the office, a habit she’s developed since she acquired an oral fixation that has nothing to do with cigarettes and everything to do with the woman in front of her. The blinds are closed. She’s sure they weren’t this morning. She didn’t think to check if the door was locked as Serena had closed it behind her.

Serena takes her glass from her, puts it out of reach. Before Bernie can think why this is a terrible idea (they’re colleagues, friends, equals apart from nominal rank), all the reasons it isn’t fill her head (they’re _excellent_ colleagues, _best_ friends, and above all _equals_ ).

“Was that the hint,” asks Bernie, eyes open at last.

“Uh huh.”

Bernie accepts Serena’s unspoken invitation, landing somewhere between kneeling and sprawled across Serena’s thighs when their lips meet. Serena’s hands slide home in her hair. Bernie’s find steady handholds on Serena’s hips. There’s constantly some new place to become infatuated of on Serena Campbell and Bernie means to explore them all. But perhaps not in the hospital next time. They’re going to need a great deal more privacy—and space—for what Bernie has in mind.

She sighs even as she hums in delight at Serena’s nails tickling her scalp.

She just knows Dom is going to be impossible about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be back with days 8 and 9. They're just taking longer than planned.
> 
> ETA: [Day 9: Near to Us, Once More](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950783)
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/180986968940/fic-as-in-olden-days)


	9. Day 11: Through the Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena have a tradition that never wavers through years prosperous and lean: Love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 11: Tradition
> 
> Oof, canon. This deals with what happened without losing hope. Hope you enjoy.

The first year is hard. Holidays are already hell for Serena but without Bernie, without her home, it’s a special kind of torture in trying to make the Yuletide gay. Nevertheless, she counts her blessings and bears up under it. Early days and all that; she’ll love again. She will. She does. But her old love never quite gives up pride of place.

In the years to come, she and Bernie, they have this tradition. If ever their paths cross and they’re each unattached and willing, they rekindle their flame. It isn’t anything serious, not now they know how damned they are, but it’s good, it’s affirming to know whatever bound them together like glue still binds them now.

Serena gets to caress that gorgeous hair till Bernie purrs and goes docile as a kitten in her arms. Bernie gets to kiss Serena’s ears and tell her they’re still the part of her she can’t resist. They get to be in love and in lust and together without all the painful parts. “Goodbye” is “Until next time, hmm?” “Be safe” is “Tell them they’d better take care of you or they’ll hear from me.” Parting is still sweet sorrow, but it’s mostly sweet. The world goes round outside the bubble of their liaisons and they go with it, in their diverging orbits, spinning away again from one another.

You cannot lose what’s no longer yours, or so they both believe.

Those are the good years.

* * *

The first time Serena sees Bernie kiss another woman is an odd sort of shock. Not a surprise; Bernie’s beauty is evident to anyone lucky enough to see her and she never doubted for a second that someone would hurry to lay claim to her while they could. But seeing the shine of adoration in Bernie’s eyes turned to someone else is…strange. It hurts. Like seeing Edward kiss Liberty for the first time, though certainly with different connotations. Becoming a footnote in the history of someone you thought would always inhabit your world is, well, there are no words for that.

Bernie has found a love she deserves, that clicks into her life to fill all the empty rooms in her empty apartment the way Serena’s intermittent presence never could. Good. Serena still loves her to distraction, devours every detail of her appearance like a woman deprived of nourishment for days uncounted. Rosy cheeks and a bashful smile. Grasping, possessive hands. Her husky voice, pitched low to share intimate murmurs. The signs are there for all the world to see, and see them Serena does, commits them to memory, takes solace in them and leaves aside the pain. This is how it should be.

She has never been happier to see Bernie Wolfe in love, even if it isn’t with her.

Serena swallows the lump in her throat and slips into the nearest shop lest Bernie see her. No need to make an awkward scene.

Bernie lives. Bernie loves. Serena’s heart is safe. The world can go round.

* * *

Bernie’s revelation comes in the form of a little girl zipping through the Christmas market only days before Christmas. Someone is shouting after her, snaking through the crowd of market attendees with a bevy of apologies for rudeness and not a few direct shoves.

Bernie looks down to the ground to see a tiny girl in a snowflake knit cap darting past her and it’s pure instinct that has her snatching her right off her feet before she can disappear. The girl lets out a shriek and kicks up a fuss that would be quite impressive were Bernie a child snatcher and not attempting to do a good deed.

Her pursuer catches up to them and the girl goes boneless in a huff. Her weight is oddly familiar in Bernie’s arms.

“Oh, thank you.”

Bernie sets the girl back on the ground, hoping she’s made the right call. Deciding the girl’s grumbling is more annoyance than distress, she lets her go completely.

The other woman drops to her knees to hug the child. “Darling, you can’t run off like that. I could have lost you.” Her hair is dark, speckled with snow, and her eyes the palest ever blue, their warmth belying their icy color.

The girl looks nothing like her, her eyes earth brown and chin delicately dimpled at the tip, but she snuggles into her embrace like coming home, as if it makes no difference to her at all. “Sorry, Auntie Jordie.”

“Thanks for catching her.” Jordie—Jordan, she supposes—offers Bernie a handshake, a good one, solid without intending to overpower. Despite her diminutive height, she has the charisma of someone taller and broader, the presence of a stronger person than she could possibly be. “She loves to get up to mischief. Trying to give me a heart attack.” The girl titters.

“It was nothing. I’m only glad she didn’t find herself in any trouble. I know how kids can be.”

The little girl kicks at the snow with a pout that tugs at Bernie’s heart. “I wanted to see the fairy lights,” she says in a futile attempt to justify herself.

“I told you to wait, Gwen. When I tell you to wait, you have to listen to me.” She turns to Bernie to thank her a last time. “Thank you again.”

“Glad to help. Happy Christmas.”

Jordan returns her season’s greeting and leads her very grumpy charge off into the crowd until the stern talking-to she’s treating the girl to is just audible.

“Auntie Serena’s going to be cross when she hears about this.”

“Don’t tell her or she’ll make me sit on the naughty step!”

“Sorry, Guinevere, that’s how it’s to be. Auntie’s rules.”

Gwen’s high-pitched whine of complaint is swallowed up by the strains of Nat King Cole’s “When I Fall In Love” piped into the market over loudspeakers.

Bernie hasn’t seen Guinevere Haynes since she learned to walk. She stopped receiving letters or pictures or holiday cards when she moved countries for the fourth time in as many years and neglected to leave a forwarding address. It was likely Serena’s advice that did it, a clean break between them all, as little contact as they can stand in the lean days but for the encounters that have become rarer and rarer with each passing year. Could be this is the year they stop. Someone else is standing where Bernie stood now, filling the space at Serena’s side, taking Gwen to the Christmas market, and waiting for Serena to come home at night. Doing what Bernie couldn’t happily do.

Bernie shoves her chilly hands into her pockets and goes on her way. There are gifts to buy still, at the very last minute, and long overdue letters to write to Cameron and Charlotte, themselves continents away.

She makes sure not to look back.

* * *

Four years after their final liaison (in Paris, during spring) and seven months after Bernie moves in with her latest partner, an Austrian professor teaching at the Technische Universität München in Germany where Bernie now lives, her phone rings. It’s Ric, another voice she hasn’t heard in near a decade of selective radio silence from both sides. There’s been an accident.

In the aftermath, when Bernie tries to recall what explanation she gave to either Nadja or the hospital director about her sudden need for travel, she will only remember arguing in halting German like a woman possessed that there was someplace else she was needed, somewhere so much more important she needed to be. She’ll come back to an empty apartment someday in the future, but it will be a long time before she does.

Holby has seen little change since Bernie ceased to call the place home. It’s still a mid-size city in the West Midlands, its weather poor and its residents kind. The streets are quiet once she frees herself from the Holby airport. She hasn’t much trouble finding a taxi. Old haunts have fallen in her years way, shining new housing developments have usurped playgrounds and public parks. There’s the restaurant where she and Serena had their first date, still standing. The Chinese she used to frequent with Cameron while he finished up his foundation training in town. He would tell her _everything_ , the gossip. He and Morven still topple in and out of love like leaves grow on trees, changing with the season. He came by it honestly.

Holby City Hospital welcomes her at four a.m., dull light searing out of the windows high up, indifferent as a god staring down at her. This was not how she meant to make her return.

There was an accident. A drunken driver on an icy road plowed into them on their way home from buying a Christmas tree. They were all together, Serena, Jason, Greta, and Gwen. Jordan isn’t part of the picture anymore, according to Ric. Bernie doesn’t ask why.

Greta will live. She rests in a medically induced coma, body battered, on the mend. Jason may not. Sweet, wonderful Jason may not. The years dam up in Bernie’s throat where she stands outside his room on ITU. The man he was becoming when she left lies fully realized on the bed where he may die, in the hospital where Serena may lose her only living child.

Serena. Bernie has thought of little else since she got the call. Serena had arrived to the hospital unconscious and covered in blood that turned out not to be her own. A fractured clavicle, a shattered tibia, and several broken ribs are the price of her survival. Bernie knows it isn’t the wounds to her body that will kill her.

Though in tatters herself Serena rocks Gwen in her arms. She’s eight now and really much too big to sit comfortably in Serena’s lap what with her tender ribs and hard cast-encased shin, but stay she does. They cry together.

Serena’s hair is more silver than gray anymore and the lines of wear that began forging her face after Elinor have entirely taken hold. She wears her years of sadness and joy as beautifully as she once wore youth. To Bernie’s eyes she’s just the same as she was in the car park, on that theater floor, in the hallway, as at Jason’s wedding reception cradling a bouquet in her arms. Someone else’s happy ending back then, yet for the taking.

But maybe not.

It takes Bernie too long to move from the doorway. Ric has to push her. Impatient as he’s grown of their love story, it isn’t any wonder. She wonders what stories he could tell. She’ll ask one day.

* * *

Serena lifts her bruised eyes from Jason’s deathly still form when she hears a set of boots scuff the floor. Not a nurse. Not a doctor come to tell them the worst Serena can anticipate and deep down already knows.

Bernie is changed. Life, kind and cruel, will wear all sorts and it’s worn even her. She’s blonde and silver, and still direly in need of a brush. Smile lines deep. Eyes deep set and sorrowful. Weren’t they always? She remembers they were.

Bernie fidgets. Still with the smoking, Serena surmises, can’t be irritable enough to chastise her. Smoke cannot kill a Wolfe. Were that they were all so indestructible.

“I got a call.”

“And you got on the first plane.”

“I promised.”

“You did.”

“I’m so sorry, Serena.”

Serena breaks as silently as she can but for the pain, but for Gwen who sleeps fitfully held against her quaking chest. Bernie can’t lift Serena how she used to as even her old knees would likely never forgive her. That doesn’t stop her gathering Serena and Gwen in loving arms and vowing not to leave again, not even if Serena demands it. As if she ever would. Not twice. This family will need every hand it can get to hold itself together in the months and years ahead, and Bernie is putting herself up to the task. Serena will have her. Life is long but eternity is longer and Serena has been _waiting._

Bernie’s traveled so far and Serena’s lived so very much, yet this is where they return to when the going surges past tough to become impossible. The only place in the vast, impossible universe that will forever greet them with open arms. Each other.

Serena’s roving heart has come home, just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181053885685/fic-through-the-years).
> 
> Shoutout to @ktlsyrtis for giving me the idea of our two lovely ladies hooking up over the years. It was PERFECT.


	10. Day 13: Out of Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie will do anything for love but she won't do that (without complaining).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 13: Christmas Jumpers

Bernie inspects the forest green Christmas jumper Serena left in her locker for the second time. Still as eye-searing as it was upon initial examination. There’s an embroidered tableau of reindeer in ice skates at an ice rink across the front and back. To Bernie’s jaundiced eye, all Santa’s reindeer seem to be pleading for a quick and merciful death. Bernie cannot wear this.

“What if I just hold it in front of me?”

“You have to actually wear the jumper for it to qualify,” Serena says from her own locker. She’s wearing her garish vermilion jumper dotted with smiling anthropomorphic Christmas trees. On her, adorable. That Bernie considers most anything Serena does as such is immaterial.

Bernie grunts and shoves hers to the bottom of her satchel. “I don’t know why it means so much to you.” Serena has been wheedling her to comply for days now, since she blasted things came in the post from whatever maniacal retailer distributes truly heinous knitwear to inflict on the masses.

Serena exhumes Bernie’s Christmas jumper from the depths of her disorganized bag and shakes it out. Crunchie wrappers flutter to the floor. Bernie might have been eating her frustration on the matter.

“It means a lot to Jason and to Greta that we all wear matching jumpers for the family portrait. You’re family, darling, so that includes you.” Bernie pokes out her bottom lip. Serena knows how to render her putty in her hands. Since Bernie elected to stay in Holby, Serena’s gone out of her way to make sure Bernie knows she has a place with them, that she belongs right where she is. It’s a double-edged sword.

“It’s not really my style.”

“It’s none of our style, but it is festive and we are a festive family.” Serena rubs a thumb over Bernie’s protruding lip.

“It’s loud.” Serena kisses her to cut off her grumbling. It’s largely academic now; Bernie will do anything Serena wants within reason and they both know it.

Still, when Serena rebuts, “I’m louder,” heats pools low in Bernie’s stomach.

“I know…”

Serena holds the terrible Yuletide garment up to Bernie’s chest. “Wear that and I’ll make it worth your while when we get home.” They’ve dinner with Jason’s little family, then family photos for the greeting cards, and then the rest of the evening to knock about the house alone, a real treat now the cold’s properly set in. Ideal snuggling weather. Also ideal for other private, adult activities.

“How do you intend to do that?” Serena walks her fingers up the side of Bernie’s neck to the shell of her ear, traces its shell with feather-light touches. Hasn’t grown old yet, getting to feel that anyplace but her memories.

“I’ll model it for you. Just that, nothing else.” The jumper scarcely comes to Bernie’s waist; on Serena it will be scant at best. Bernie could do with a drink for her throat. It’s suddenly dry as bone, unlike other areas of her body.

“You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Campbell.”

Serena draws Bernie down by the nape of her neck so they can trade a series of light, chaste kisses that do nothing to slow Bernie’s suddenly racing heart. Winter it may be but between the two of them, there’s always a heat wave on.

“Anything for love, my love.” Serena has so very much love to go around. For Bernie, for Jason, for all their children and family. That’s why Bernie’s still here. For love.

“That’s why I love you.”

“I know,” Serena says. “But you still have to wear the reindeer jumper.”

“Ugh.”

The outrageous, undignified things Bernie does for love. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181119758875/fic-out-of-sight)


	11. Day 15: If Only in My Dreams (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days afterward are hard on Serena, but they have nothing on the dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 15: Karaoke Night

Serena is laughing too loud. It’s the champagne. She loves champagne on the right occasion. This is a cause for celebration and celebrate she will. Christmas is here. Nobody said merry couldn’t be made on a broken heart and she’ll prove it can be.

Albie’s is having a Christmas party for the unattached and the lonely, though it hardly says _that_ on the flyers. No, this party is for those with nobody to go home to, who could do with some Christmas cheer.

Serena’s house is empty, Greta and Jason and the baby have come and gone, preferring to turn in early to avoid being caught in deep snow. Serena is at a loose end. It isn’t the first time she’s spent the holiday alone, but it is the first time she’s chosen it.

The party is full of hospital personnel, some Serena knows and some she’s only seen during performance reviews and budget meetings, the infrequent disciplinary hearing she chaired as a member of the board. They’re all one and the same here, avoiding one another’s eyes before the bubbly kicks in and the strangely melancholy Christmas tunes take a turn for the holly jolly. Things are brighter after a couple of flutes and flirts. Ric appearing and Henrik dipping his toe back in the pool of outside hospital socialization help allay her fears at being the odd one out. They’ve all got reasons for being here and none of them are keen to share their stories when there’s food and drink to be had. Serena is no stranger to secrets; she’ll keep this one too.

The night grows legs and runs, and she dances with people she’s never spoken to or even seen before (porters, nurses, and possibly, if her sozzled recognition can be trusted, Fletch Sr.). One of them slips their number in her pocket. It’s a thrill and shock, and she’s slightly nauseous when she finds it at the bar an hour later, in the same pocket as her mother’s engagement ring, the one she meant to give to Jason for Greta and didn’t. The one she meant to be give to Bernie and can’t. She leaves the number on the counter like a fuzzy sweet come loose from the wrapper and reaches for the wine. In the commotion, the dancing, the drinking and drunken carol singing, she loses track of it. It’s no great loss. Serena’s sunk greater ships this week than one that never sailed.

At some point, late, near midnight to hear soggy reckoning, someone recommends karaoke. All of them, pissed and maudlin and stupidly united in their lonely camaraderie, agree.

The thing is, Serena doesn’t sing.

It isn’t that she can’t. Her voice is fine, her tone nice and even, but Serena doesn’t sing. She was brought up by a singing father and all her life through has connected singing with love and intimacy, with her father rocking her in his arms after a nightmare or serenading her mother on their silver anniversary. Songs are love letters when sung and until Bernie Serena kept those all to herself.

But Bernie’s gone and Serena’s never let a thing like propriety keep her telling her she loved her out loud. Distance is no object or obstruction, only a fact. She loves her, for eternity.

She drafts Ric and Henrik to help her choose a song to sing as her turn on stage approaches. Henrik is the voice of moderation telling her perhaps she should reconsider.

“If you could send one last message to the one you love, would you? Even if there’s a chance they’ll never hear it?” Henrik’s eyes flicker, dark and devastated before the emotion recedes. A blink if you don’t know what to look for, but of course Serena knows.

Henrik voices no further objections and when Ric recommends “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, Henrik assents. That’s the song she’ll sing.

Serena is no angel and her voice is a far cry from a choir of them, and when she sings about planning to be home again, and hoping it would wait with snow and mistletoe, there’s nothing hopeful about it. There’s no hope left. She sent it on its way. Angels would weep, she thinks. She has.

She blinks tears out of her eyes and like magic, home is there, standing in the very doorway where Serena last clapped eyes on her. The same sharp suit and flyaway hair, her green scarf tucked under her coat. She watches Serena like she’ll never see her again, exactly as Serena has watched her since the instant she appeared, hands over Serena’s eyes.

Bernie slips through the crowd, rounding tables to reach the stage. The spotlight never leaves her.

Serena forgets to sing. The music plays joyfully, full of promise in the background, buoyant without her grief. Everything is.

Bernie says her name. She’s right there, just below the stage, her hand reaching for Serena and Serena reaching back. They very nearly touch just once more.

They’ll be reaching forever.

Serena wakes up to a dark house, quiet but for the sound of creaking pipes. No music. No laughter. No hand to hold where all the world’s a stage.

She didn’t go to Albie’s tonight, couldn’t bear the whispers or the pitying looks. She didn’t go out, she didn’t sing, and Bernie didn’t come back.

It was only a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181125390405/fic-if-only-in-my-dreams).
> 
> To be continued in [Where the Lovelight Gleams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804630/chapters/39949203)


	12. Day 14: Where the Lovelight Gleams (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie has something to say, if only she had any idea where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 14: Candlelight
> 
> Continued from [If Only in My Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804630/chapters/39949143#workskin). It has a happier ending, if you were worried.

The night they say goodbye Bernie leaves the house she shared with Serena, but she doesn’t leave the country, not right away. There are days left on her leave to Jason’s wedding, time she’d meant to spend catching up with her friends and reconnecting with Serena, getting to know her grand-niece as pictures and grainy video calls don’t allow. Her arms still ache from the brief time she’d held the girl close and smelled her baby smell. Guinevere is perfection, the apple of her grand-aunties’ eye. Jason said to her in his inimitably direct fashion that she was still welcome to be Gwen’s grand-auntie. She’s family, he said, regardless of whether she’s Serena’s partner any longer. Bernie wishes she was certain Serena would agree.

They haven’t spoken since parting at the reception. Bernie hastily packed her things and checked into a nearby hotel to avoid an awkward encounter in the night. It was a pointless gesture of goodwill since it turns out Serena slept off her hangover in Fleur’s guestroom. Hearing the woman’s name in conjunction with her partner’s—former partner’s—conjures up images Bernie could do without. Not a young woman, not a blonde, but someone else who made no secret of her interest in Serena. The part of her that’s grown petty and mean-spirited in the silence wonders if Fleur’s in with a chance now Bernie’s out of the picture.

She resents it, all of it, that Fleur got to be with Serena every day of her absence and on so many nights. Got to take Serena to movies and gallery openings, got to watch at see her favorite plays and meet her favorite musicians, how she’d light up and flirt with a batting of the lashes to get her way in a bar. Fleur didn’t just get to be Serena’s plus one, she got to become Serena’s best friend. That, more than what Dr. Faulkner had for all of a night, is what she covets the most. That’s what she loathes even the idea of losing.

It’s inevitable, she knows that. Breakups come with collateral damage and with friends turned lovers the casualty is typically their prior friendship. But Bernie is greedy deep down, as much as she tries to be noble, and she wants her best friend back. She’ll give up the rest, the passionate lovemaking, the domesticity, even the sexting she’s just got the hang of, if she can still call Serena up out the blue and be her main priority, if she can still be Serena’s number one.

Bernie stands outside her former home for fifteen minutes smoking cigarette after cigarette. The house is dark, the neighborhood darker, even for the hour of night this time of year. Probably a rolling blackout brought on by blizzard coming this way. Bernie only just feels the cold. She’s been cold for days; huzzah for the world catching up to her.

Serena’s probably asleep.

Serena’s probably with Fleur.

Serena probably doesn’t miss her at all.

That one, the last, she can’t quite make herself believe. She knows her partner—former, she reminds herself, tone gone vicious in her own mind—too well.

She slips inside with her old key, the key she had meant to leave and then mistakenly tucked into a pocket out of habit. She was right about the power; all out, no lights. She shudders and rubs her arms. No heat. She goes to where the candles are kept, lighting her way with the screen of her phone. She grabs a votive candle meant to smell of frankincense and myrrh from the kitchen cupboard and uses her lighter to ignite it. She navigates the main level by feel and memory. They’d kissed here. They’d laughed there. They’d shagged hard and fast against that door the last time Bernie had come home and they had fought. They’d put painstakingly assembled a rocking chair for Gwen’s nursery upstairs in that far corner. Bernie knows where she is and where she’s going. She’s knows where she belongs, wants dearly to still belong here.

The first things she notes on reaching the master bedroom upstairs are the candles on the window sill. They smell of the usual sweet things that give Serena peace. Near two years after losing Elinor, Serena continues to struggle for equilibrium day by day. What she once eschewed as frippery, she now gloms onto with unapologetic fervor. Meditation. Incense. Drink. Sex. Love. All of them are life preservers to a woman who might still one day drown in her grief. There isn’t a moment Serena’s unaware she’s got one foot on land and the other at sea. There are days where Bernie isn’t much better, her feet loosely planted in the unsteady ground.

Serena is a candlelit silhouette balled up on the rumpled bed. Bernie’s side is unmade, her pillow gone. It takes her squinting to see Serena’s holding it, her face buried in it, hair a spiky mess, a familiar sign of pained, turbulent sleep. It takes listening to hear her crying. The bed creaks softly, softly with the force of her sobbing, like she’s used to doing it so no one will hear. Serena’s been crying alone for longer than Bernie’s been part of her life. She’s refined boxing up her pain to an art form, chaos trapped in drained wine bottles bound to shatter someday and make an awful mess. Serena’s past is a gallery of messes.

Bernie sets her candle on the bedside table and only then does Serena lift her head. She wipes her eyes. Doesn’t seem surprised to see Bernie after she’s agreed to go back to Nairobi for both their sake. As though either of them are anything like that selfless, much as they might like to be.

“Are you a dream?” Serena rasps. She’s wrung out, washed out, her skin not entirely distinguishable from the pale streaks of her hair in the diffuse golden light.

“Some have said so, though the more accurate term is ‘dreamboat,’ or so I’ve been told.”

Serena doesn’t laugh. “You’d probably say that.”

Bernie sits on her side of the bed. Still cool. Nobody’s been here since her, she doesn’t think.

“What’s wrong?”

Serena props her chin on her knees. “Just waiting for you to disappear.”

“If that’s a hint…” Serena had been the one to banish her, hadn’t she, and Bernie had gone. Isn’t sure she won’t again.

“You always disappear. Just before we touch.”

Bernie smoothes down the cowlick in back of Serena’s head, surreptitiously gauging her temperature (this side of too warm for comfort). The cold hasn’t seeped up here, the power loss still recent. Serena’s running hot, a touch of sweat dampening her hairline “I’m not disappearing now.”

Serena lolls her head back into Bernie’s hand. She doesn’t purr like she sometimes does when petted, demonstrative and vocal about being loved. “Give it time.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I don’t have to drink to be maudlin.”

Bernie kicks off her shoes and scoots across the bed to bundle Serena to her side. “Here I am. No dream.”

Serena curls into her. The world would not believe how much Serena enjoys being held or how much Bernie loves to be the one who gets to do it. “How are you still here? What for?”

“Because I have something to say that I need you to hear.”

“That’s a new one.”

“I suppose I deserve that.” Serena rubs her face into Bernie’s shoulder, apologetic and too shattered for the words. Bernie can translate. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I stayed up all night thinking about it.” Every night since Jason’s reception, actually. Maybe the problem isn’t who Bernie is, rather that Serena just doesn’t want her like she used to. “Having you as my friend changed my life, as much as being your partner, if not more. I don’t want to lose my best friend. I can do without the other parts.”

“You’d give up sex and snuggling and kissing me?” It’s the most lucid Serena’s sounded since Bernie sat down. The most skeptical in any conversation they’ve ever had.

“I wouldn’t be happy about it, but if there’s someone you want more, I could live without it.” Dr. Faulkner (doubtful) or Fleur (the thought settles in her gut like a stone) or the locum in the Darwin scrubs whose eyes followed Serena a beat too long in the line at Pulses.

“Liar.” They both titter. Bernie’s enamored of Serena in all her physicality. The feeling is mutual. Doing without the pleasure of their shared intimacy would be a mammoth task, if not impossible. But then, they’ve each shown themselves capable of incredible things.

“It would take some adjustment, but Serena, you’re worth a bit of discomfort to me. If it means I get to keep my home.”

Serena fingers the lapel of Bernie’s coat. “Did I ever tell you, when I first came back, when I was so sure I’d be leaving in a month or two, that Jason said it was because I no longer considered Holby my home? That I considered you my home.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t know how to say it.” More secrets kept for want of how to say the words. “You _are_ my home.”

“But not your family.”

Serena’s huff of annoyance warms Bernie’s collarbones, bringing a faint smile to her face. The house is too cold without heating. They’ll need to keep each other warm and breathing till the power’s restored at daybreak.

“I knew that still bothered you. See, in my mind, family is who you take care of, but home, home is where you belong. If you were my family, I could never let you go, and I suppose I knew all along that wasn’t going to be an option. Home, though, people leave home all the time. Doesn’t change its name or its nature. You are my home.”

“And you’re mine.”

Serena wriggles round till she’s got her arms under Bernie’s coat to hug her waist and tuck her face into Bernie’s neck. She’s still warm from her cozy nest of winter quilts. Hints of deep sleep cling to her voice and the scent of lavender clings to her skin. Bernie presses her lips into her hair, once, twice, and holds her to her heart. After Alex she didn’t think it’d be possible to love someone, truly love them, the way all the love songs say. Serena proved and proves and will prove her wrong for the rest of her days, she’s sure.

“The best bit about home, Bernie, is that you can go back, can’t you, if you really want to?” She asks like she’s afraid it’s ruined, they’re ruined. Scarred maybe, bruised and banged up from falls from great heights, but no, never ruined.

Bernie rocks her just so. “You can, if you want to. Home will always be there.” Bernie will be there, be that at another hospital just across town or someplace thousands of miles away.

“I hope so.”

The night will be dark and long, but it won’t be cold and it cannot be lonely what with the two of them here together. Morning will bring questions and Bernie will have to find answers, but for now, in the candlelight of the bedroom that used to be theirs, and might be again, Bernie knows the only answer that matters:

She isn’t ready to let go of her home quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181139207510/fic-where-the-lovelight-gleams)


	13. Day 8: All Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie Wolfe can be on Serena's competitive snowball fighting team anytime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 8: Snowball Fight

* * *

Serena pinches the bridge of her nose to ward off a fast approaching headache. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You want to organize a charity snowball fight between the staffs of the different departments?”

Henrik raps one long finger on the text of the proposal up for debate. “It’s been a difficult year. I see it as a good, safe way to allow us all to let off some steam.” She flicks a look between him and Ric, sure they must be playing a rather unfunny joke at her expense. Surely, they don’t really think this is wise.

“Someone’s going to get maimed. Has Legal heard about this?”

“They have,” Ric replies before Hanssen can get a word out. “Provided all the participants sign of a waiver freeing the hospital from liability in the event of incident or injury, they’ve raised no objections.”

“Far be it for me to deny the staff some necessary tension relief, but are we sure we want to inflame inter-departmental hostilities more than they already have been after the last budget conference?” Yet again, Darwin is raking in the dough at the expense of other departments. AAU made out all right, but Serena wouldn’t like to be caught by Connie Beauchamp in a dark alley after winning out over the other woman’s department for equipment upgrades.

“The goal is to promote the spirit of friendly competition in a safe, controlled environment.”

Serena is going to require antacids to get through the week. _What an awful idea._ But it’s apparent her esteemed colleagues intend to go through with it. Best that someone try to limit the fallout.

“What are the parameters of the tournament?” Henrik directs her to the appropriate page, knowing she’d been in theater before the impromptu meeting and hadn’t the opportunity to properly review the agenda. A limited rotation of staff members would participate in a set of bracketed battles for an unnamed holiday prize. Serena can’t even get the department heads to attend teambuilding seminars, but evidently everyone has time in their packed schedule to throw snowballs like children. “Right.” She sets the agenda to the side. Time to position herself for success, then. “Who has Bernie Wolfe this time?” The former army medic is surely the key to victory and Serena wants her. For professional reasons, naturally.

Henrik and Ric share a look Serena decides against trying to interpret. She isn’t interested in their prurient speculation.

Ric answers for them both, “She’s floating at the moment, between Keller and the ED. I suppose it’ll be down to her to decide which department she wants to claim for the snowball tournament. Are you interested?”

Serena twists her pendant between her fingers, suddenly neck-deep in enjoyable contemplation. “Very much so.”

* * *

An inconvenient shadow blocks Bernie’s light as she’s attempting to fill in her crossword. ‘A three letter word for hell.’ She scrawls in _WAR._ All caps.

“What would a woman have to do to convince you to join her snowball team?”

Bernie squints up at the looming figure till the person in question heeds her silent cue and takes a seat beside her. Serena Campbell, deputy CEO of Holby City Hospital. Although Bernie’s vaguely recalls they met once when Bernie was interviewed for her current position, they’ve only spoken in passing in the months since. Not that that’s kept Serena from chivvying Bernie to join her at Albie’s for drinks on multiple occasions. Not even Bernie can explain her repeated refusals. Fear, perhaps, that she’ll like the daring woman too much if she gets to know her better.

“Explain the words in that sentence in a way I can understand, to start. Snowball team?”

Serena stretches out her trousered legs before her and crosses them at the ankles.

“Some wise egg had the bright idea to let us all lob snowballs at each other to raise money for cancer research. All the departments form their own teams and, since you’re currently floating, you’re the lucky soul who gets to choose her comrades. What would I have to do to convince you to join AAU on the field of battle?”

Bernie closed her crossword puzzle book to consider her offer. “Depends why you want me.”

Serena sips her coffee. Bernie would almost think she isn’t interested in Bernie’s answer one way or another were it not for the intensity of her gaze and how it’s not left Bernie once since she approached.

“That’s simple enough. I like to win, Ms. Wolfe. You’re a soldier so you’re without a doubt bloody tough, and I suspect you know your way around a fight. Not to mention, I still haven’t had the chance to take you out for drinks, which I’m hoping you’ll permit if you’re on my team.” Bernie can’t think of a time since grade school that anybody’s worked this hard to befriend her.

“Ms. Campbell, has anyone ever told you you’re awfully persistent?”

“I don’t think it will surprise you to know it’s been said. So…yes or no?”

“To joining your team or letting you take me out?” Serena’s eyes twinkle. Bernie’s rumbled her and it doesn’t bother her in the least. A _very_ daring woman, then.

“Both.”

“Yes.”

“Jolly good.” Serena stands, coffee clutched in hand and a dazzling smile on her face. _Uh oh._ Bernie’s going to find it difficult refusing her much of anything, smiling like that. “Meet me on AAU at the end of your shift. We’ll rally the troops.”

“Can’t wait.”

* * *

Bernie arrives on AAU in her civvies to a warm welcome by the off-duty ward staff assembled in the break room.

“There she is, there’s the major!” Fletch crows, leading the others in applause of their own division. Serena might have told them Bernie was their best chance of beating out Darwin. She might have also told them if they flattered her well enough they perhaps could even get her to make her time on their ward permanent. Never let it be said Serena’s afraid to grease to wheels to insure events go her way.

“There’s our secret weapon. Ms. Wolfe—you all remember her, I’m sure—has kindly agreed to join us in this fight for the snowy honor of our fine ward. She’s the reason we’re going to win.” Serena beckons Bernie to her side and pulls her near by a graceful wrist. As Serena makes the necessary introductions to their A-Team (Raf, Fletch, Donna, and Lou), she detects a delightful uptick in the reassuring thump-a-thump at Bernie’s pulse point. She hasn’t let go of Bernie yet, sensing that she might shy away from being the center of attention if she isn’t coached. But Bernie shows no sign of doing anything of the kind. A woman who knows her worth. Serena does love a showboat.

“This is the best we’ve got. The brightest, the strongest, and the fastest. Can you use us?”

Bernie eyes them all up, Serena the longest. “I think you’ll do.”

Raf and Fletch trade high fives. Their athletic prowess is a matter of pride.

Serena traces nonsense inside her wrist, the contact light, just enough to send goose pimples dancing up her forearm.

“All right, Ms. Wolfe?”

Bernie’s throat undulates in one long swallow. She blows her fringe out of her eyes.

“More than all right, Ms. Campbell.”

“Shall we begin?”

Bernie makes her rounds, even going so far as to pull out the mugs and the sugar and creamer to act as proxies for their team mates on the courtyard. She’s deeply passionate about strategy and it shows. Serena’s deeply passionate about winning so she pays extra close attention. If that attentions strays to Bernie’s long legs or tight bum, that’s perfectly kosher. A team co-captain ought to know her team mates’ strengths and weakness. Bernie stretches over the table to retrieve a striped _world’s best surgeon_ mug Serena got as a gag from Guy Self one year and the picture she paints in the play of muscles beneath her skinny jeans makes up for the intended slight entirely. _Nothing weak about that backside, is there?_

So focused is Serena on fully appreciating the trauma surgeon’s derriere that she momentarily fails to note that it’s her turn to collect her field assignment.

“Anything the matter, Ms. Campbell?”

Serena ignores and any all tittering with as much dignity as she can hope to muster on the spot. “Nothing at all.”

“Something on my trousers?”

 _Me, I hope_ is not an appropriate answer. That doesn’t stop the words from dancing on Serena’s lips for a fraction of a second.

“Nothing. Simply appreciating your athletic physique. The army must have put you through your paces.”

Bernie shrugs. “I ran track competitively in school. I didn’t notice much of a difference.”

Serena is struck by the image of Bernie Wolfe in university outrunning all her competitors, dark blonde hair flying behind her, cheeks ruddy as can be. She would have been the prettiest thing on the lanes and Serena, dyed in the wool heterosexual save for all the girls she kissed at St. Winifred’s and the ones who kissed her in Stepney and Bath and Minsk, would have been enraptured. She recognizes the symptoms.

“The army lost a keeper.”

“Your gain, then.” Bernie brown eyes glitter. Serena’s ears are red as she can imagine they’ve been in her life. They burn with it. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

She doesn’t just mean the snowball fight.

* * *

The tournament takes place over the course of three days and it comes down to Darwin under the command of Jac Naylor versus AAU under the joint leadership of Bernie and Serena. Jac plays dirty, as expected. AAU plays dirtier (Serena likes to win and Bernie likes seeing Serena smile, she finds very quickly—a dangerous combination). Bernie commands the barrage and battlements while Serena manages the logistics of keeping them in snowballs. Together, they can’t be beat. It’s a photo finish but eventually Henrik Hanssen comes down from his ivory tower to call the game before someone dies of frostbite or an all-out brawl erupts when Serena and Jac decide to debate the rules in each other’s faces and their respective staffs are bloody-minded enough to back their leads’ plays.

Holby City is no ordinary hospital and these are no ordinary personnel. Give them proper weapons and watch out. Bernie would feel some guilt about trouncing Darwin were it not for Jac’s grudging handshake of congratulations. They walk the line like petty Little Leaguers, exchanging handshakes and well played’s that neither side entirely means.

Serena’s victory shimmy once Jac’s team has gone makes being treated like an ill-behaved child by the hospital CEO worth the censure. They won.

There’s nothing dignified about the crowing they do as they troop off from the courtyard, all of them sodden and half-frozen but grinning like magpies over a stockpile of diamonds. Serena kisses both of Bernie’s cheeks with her cold lips.

“Well done, you. I knew you were our good luck charm.”

“Just doing my job.”

“You’re amazing at it.”

They beam at each other. Serena loves victory, she wears it like her ridiculous fur cap that manages to be stately and not a little cute on her when it would make anybody else look like a fur trapper stumbled directly out of the 1700s. Serena makes Bernie feels all sorts of silly things looking at her like she is.

“Hot chocolate?” Serena asks when Fletch whistles at them to get a move on.

“It’d have to be dosed with lava to warm me up after that.” She rubs her hands together and winces to find them numb.

“I’m plenty warm.”

Bernie side-eyes her temporary team co-captain. She’s read women wrong before, wouldn’t like to do that with whatever professional relationship they could have hanging over them. “The tournament’s over.”

“I still want you on my team.” Serena flicks her eyes towards Albie’s where the rest of the AAU A-team are headed to dry off and drink to their collective victory. Bernie’s pleased as punch to be invited.

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

Bernie and Serena occupy a pair of club chairs near the fire. Serena kicked off her shoes on sitting down, and following her lead, Bernie’s done the same. Their socked feet are fast approaching dry on the carpet. Bernie lets out a happy sigh and sips her whiskey, welcoming the burning warmth in her chest. It’s nice to belong. She hasn’t felt that much since leaving the army. No place suits her, not even home, really, hence the hasty separation and the upcoming divorce. Not that she wants to think about that just now. Not after today.

Serena’s been watching her all afternoon. On the courtyard, on the ward. Here, at this very instant. Come to think of it, Bernie can’t remember a time when Serena wasn’t watching her. She doesn’t mind, necessarily; being under observation is part and parcel of the job. Only she doesn’t get the sense Serena watches to judge her. There’s nothing like that in her clear, dark gaze. No, it’s more appreciation, fascination even, if she’s so bold as to think so. Attraction, if she lets her imagination run free. Serena’s attracted to her.

“We worked well together today.”

Bernie agrees. “We make a hell of a team, you and I.”

“So we do.” Serena hums. She has a lovely hum to match her lovely voice. Bernie could listen to her mumble nonsense for days. “So,” Serena asks her apropos of nothing, “what are your thoughts on Holby opening a trauma unit?”

Bernie drinks to hide her bewilderment. Not the turn she thought this conversation would take. Not a turn she’s opposed to.

“I’d love to see something like that. I think it’s needed.” Holby can be so much better than it is. Her first days on staff simply seemed a poor time to start making suggestions after she locked horns with Jac and Ric and Hanssen himself right off.

“On that, we agree. Any chance you’d be interested in running the show?” Bernie sits up. Now they’re most certainly on the same page.

“If you’re in the market for a trauma lead, I’m your girl. Just tell me where and when.”

“Good to know.”

Bernie tosses back the last of whiskey and decides to go for broke. Things can’t get any less complicated at this juncture. Might as well have some fun while it’s still going. “Any chance we could have dinner first?”

Serena sits forward. “If you recall, I only asked you out for drinks.” She lifts her glass as if to remind Bernie of her intentions.

“And I’m asking you to dinner,” says Bernie to inform Serena of hers. “So, dinner?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She hasn’t misread Serena in the least. Thanks heavens for wandering eyes. And wandering hands.

“Just a word of warning, Ms. Campbell.” Bernie tickles Serena’s knee and turns her hand over to accept the one Serena offers. “You’d better hold on to me, I don’t go slow and I’d hate for you to fall off.”

“I intend to ride you into the sunset, Major. Falling off is not an option.” There’s that wink again.

Bernie’s going to learn the hot, sweaty, passionate way to take her at her word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181226621925/fic-our-troubles-will-be-miles-away)


	14. Day 16: Christmas Eve Will Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Serena agreed to take Guinevere to meet the host of Major Wolfe's Geography Hour at the Christmas Village, she never thought they'd both end up having so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 16: Ice Skating

Serena meets the redoubtable major when she takes her grandniece to the pond where the Christmas Village has been erected this year. Santa will be there with his elves and his illustrious partner in gift-giving Mrs. Claus, but so will someone new to the scene though quite beloved by all the children who’ve harangued their parents into bringing them down to wait in line.

Major Wolfe has come to Holby City.

Since the event was announced on television, Guinevere has spoken of nothing so much as meeting Bernie Wolfe from her favorite program on CBeebies, Major Wolfe’s Geography Hour. There the former army medic explores different locales with her young viewers and introduces the history of the world in an honest but highly simplified manner that the children can understand. Jason took to Major Wolfe at once when he and Greta were going the through the process of selecting acceptable programming for their little one to view, and Serena had agreed with them, offering only a science program geared to children her age as an additional recommendation. Her grandniece is a clever girl, may as well help her along.

Guinevere has bounced on her tiptoes for half an hour waiting to meet Major Wolfe. She has climbed Serena’s hip and tried to mount her shoulders to get a look at the woman in the military coat taking photos with her tiny fans at the front of the line.

“There she is!”

“I know she is, love. She’s right where the signs all said she’d be.” Serena takes Guinevere’s acrobatics in stride. She’s usually more sedate or at least not actively tracking mud and snow all over Serena’s latest knitting project. She can grant her this one allowance.

The line moves steadily and Guinevere positively trembles with excitement. Serena fetches her _Beginner’s World Atlas_ from Guinevere’s backpack which Serena’s been shouldering since it became obvious her grandniece would lose the bag and her head from her neck searching frantically for the good major. When it’s Guinevere’s turn, Serena passes her the book with her favorite location bookmarked and shepherds her to Bernie Wolfe’s side.

Against the backdrop of a globe and a world map penned to a tree house wall, the major is sat in a squat yellow plastic chair more suited to a child’s playroom than a Christmas Village, but she smiles at everyone she meets despite what must be considerable discomfort. She beams at every child and Guinevere no less when she confidently approaches with her book in hand.

“And who might you be, sweetheart?”

“I’m Gwennie.” She bares her adorable gap-tooth grin and the woman smiles back and offers her a grown-up handshake that Guinevere returns with all her might.

“Hello, Gwennie. I’m Bernie.”

“You’re the major!” Bernie laughs and it’s the most peculiar thing to hear, all goose and flailing limbs. She’s adorable and Guinevere is precious giggling with, and at, her. It’s easy to see in person how easy the major is to love. She’s an open heart.

“I _am_ the major, you’re very right! What brings you to see me today?”

Guinevere opens her oversized book to the marked page and points to a picture of the Northern Lights.

“I wanted to say…thank you teaching me about Iceland. I want mummy and daddy to take me when I’m older.” She so loves the northern lights she convinced Jason and Greta to paint their likeness on her bedroom ceiling in glow in the dark paint. No child has ever slept more peacefully.

“I love Iceland. It’s very cold in some places but so incredibly beautiful I don’t mind. I hope you get to visit. You, too,” she directs at Serena with a smile that warms Serena like a hot toddy from the inside out.

Guinevere beams. Bernie melts. Serena gets to snap a photo of her grandniece snug in the arms of Major Wolfe, both of them red all over from the cold, happy as clams. That picture’s going on her desk at work, she decides. She doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of seeing two such lovely smiling faces.

Serena soon shepherds her grandniece away to let other the kids have a chance to speak with Bernie. She has to wrestle the book away from Guinevere to put it where it won’t be lost. Her grandniece is through the roof to have the woman’s autograph carefully scrawled over the high definition photograph of Eyjafjallajökull glacier along with the message, _Hope to see you there!_ Serena already thought the woman attractive, but her patient regard for Guinevere takes her passing interest to another level. Bernie Wolfe is darling.

Serena manages to divert Guinevere from getting in line to see Bernie _again_ with the promise of meeting Mrs. Claus, who she swears is the real brains behind their global gift delivery operation, and the promise of a turn on the skating rink with lebkuchen to be consumed afterward.

Mrs. Claus in her velvet and fur finery is pleased to have such a devoted fan in Guinevere. The girl peppers her with questions about the logistics of keeping the reindeer well rested with such a busy schedule and how much coffee Santa has to drink before he can leave the house since Serena has to drink so much of it to get going. Mrs. Claus hides her laughter behind milk and cookies, and patiently answers Guinevere until one of the elves calls her away. Guinevere tells Serena that she’d be much better than Santa at organizing Christmas and making sure all the kids get the presents they deserve when they deserve them. She has no idea that Serena’s brought her here so that her parents at home can do just that for her. Serena accepts the compliment as it’s meant. It’s nice to be appreciated.

Not an hour later, they’re slowly finding their respective centers of gravity on the ice, hand in hand, when a certain major makes her presence known again. She glides over the ice, comfortable on her blades. She’s shed her heavy coat for a lighter jacket and gloves. Gone is the neat coif of the meet and greet; her wheat blonde hair is loose from its clip and falling in her eyes. The effect is strangely sweet. Serena’s fondness for her grows with every easy loop she makes and every wave she offers a child she’s met today.

Bernie winds through the couples, the families, and the singletons and somehow finds her way to Serena and Guinevere carefully treading ice along the pond’s icy bank.

“Hello, stranger. Fancy seeing you again.” Serena flirts like breathing. Can’t be helped. Bernie blooms in a flush under Serena’s attention. She drifts nearer as if drawn by Serena’s not inconsiderable magnetism and Serena preens inwardly that the major likes her back.

“It’s good seeing you again. I was hoping I would.” She and Guinevere exchange shy waves. Now that her grandniece doesn’t have a prepared question or a book to hide behind, she’s gone shy. Bernie is lovely and kind and one of her favorite people on telly; she’s also a stranger and Guinevere’s just remembered she’s not quite sure what to make of those.

“Do you skate?” Bernie asks when it’s clear Guinevere won’t be glomming onto her a second time.

Serena winces. “Not in years.” Not since Elinor was small and Edward was still halfheartedly playing the part of family man.

“Would you like to? I could hold your hand if you could do with a spotter.” Her hands are covered in lush leather gloves that do nothing to disguise how lovely they are, how capable and strong. Serena’s fingers twitch toward hers before she can think better of it. Major Wolfe is quickly becoming a favorite of hers too.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Serena asks to confirm.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Serena checks to see if Guinevere’s comfortable with this arrangement as sometimes she’s hesitant to refuse something she thinks will make someone else happy, but the girl is all but dancing on her skates. Getting to play with the major will be the best play date she’s had all year. Serena feels the exact same way.

She takes Bernie’s outstretched hand. “Lead on, Major Wolfe.”

Bernie laces their fingers together. She’s rock steady. “Nothing to worry about, you two. I won’t let you fall.”

Despite her pronouncement there is some prat falling (ouch) and some unfortunate mid-spin collisions (ugh), but also some delicious lebkuchen had by all (yum). Guinevere is right, nonetheless. As outings go, this is the most enjoyable Serena’s been out on this year so far and, if Bernie’s number in her phone is any indication, the best is yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181262312470/fic-christmas-eve-will-find-me)


	15. Day 20: Snow & Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 20: Blizzard

“Funny story,” is what Bernie opens with instead of ‘hello.’

Serena is silent for a long time.

“Bernie?”

“You know how there’s a blizzard on?” Bernie's teeth are on the verge of chattering. She should have given this plan some more thought. She should have dressed for this weather.

“In Holby it is, why? Hang on, are you here? I thought you were back in Kenya.”

“I haven’t had a chance to go back yet.” She does not in fact have a job to go back to but that isn’t Serena’s problem, it’s Bernie’s. She also hasn’t got anyplace to wait out the blizzard that’s quickly turning her into an icicle on Serena’s front step. She really shouldn’t have sold her house this past summer. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“What are you still doing in Holby? Bernie, you left a week ago.”

“I’ve been staying at a hotel.”

“What for?” To figure out her next move. To drown her sorrows in some extremely pricey whiskey. To draft dozens of texts to Serena she hasn’t sent.

“I don’t think that’s the important thing. Serena, I gave up my hotel room because the hotel overbooked and there was a family with no place to sleep.” The airport hotel had been overflowing with all the flights delayed or cancelled outright. Bernie couldn’t stand to see the family shiver.

“Trademark Bernie if I ever heard it. I’m on-shift right now, but you should go back to the house. Let yourself in. You do still have your key, don’t you?”

“I left it with Jason.”

Serena swears under her breath and Bernie ducks her head as if she can see Serena rolling eyes right in front of her. “You didn’t need to do that. Our house will always be there to welcome you home, Bernie. You’re not a guest; you’ve no need to act like one.”

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Her attempt to inject levity into her voice to hide the note of vain hope is an abject failure. Serena’s softening tone proves it.

“Of course I mean it. I’m calling Ric down to cover me. I’ll be there in, let’s say, half an hour. Try not to freeze to death before I get there.”

“I promise I will do my best.”

“What on earth am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“Use me to put the mistletoe over your front door to good use?”

“Let’s thaw you out and then we’ll talk. I’m happy you’re still hanging around, whatever the reason.”

“So am I.” Bernie rubs her arms. Her coat isn’t equal to these temperatures. If anything, she thinks it might be getting colder. Serena’s going to need someone to plow the drive as the snow is piling up rapidly. _That’s going to be my job again._ “Please bring coffee. My lips are going numb.”

“They won’t be for long when I get through with you.”

“I’m all in favor of the patented Serena Campbell treatment for acute hypothermia with all the nudity that entails but seriously, woman, coffee, possibly some scones if you’ve got the time.”

“Are you cold or hungry?” Bernie’s stomach complains audibly, preemptively putting paid to her rehearsed excuses.

“Both? I might have slept in the lobby of my hotel last night and skipped breakfast.” And the lunch hour is slipping past at an alarming clip.

“We’re going to have words about your self-sacrificial streak later. Go in through the garage and turn on the heating. You’d better stay alive so I can shout at you.” Bernie is going to shout at _her_ about leaving the garage unlocked later. Right after she snuggles down in Serena’s great big bed with all her pillows and covers and preferably Serena herself (naked) somewhere in the mix.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you. And yes I’m bringing scones.”

Bernie blows a noisy kiss down the line and darts into the house bearing all her luggage. She’s never leaving home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181264323790/fic-snow-mistletoe)


	16. Day 12: Hang a Shining Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunk Serena and a sober Bernie have a talk about the future, and the rest is in Bernie's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 12: Sparkles
> 
> I recognize all the external factors that make this version of events impossible, but that's what fanfiction is for, making the impossible reality. So enjoy my version of events.

Serena has been staring at the sparkling Christmas lights for a quarter of an hour now, at least. Red and green, they blink, on and off, to the tune of “Jingle Bells,” which is as of this moment the most odious Christmas song Serena has ever heard. That has nothing to do with her mood, by the way; it’s simply a statement of fact.

She lifts her glass for another sip of whatever it is and finds it empty. Her glasses have been constantly empty tonight despite her best effort. She has a feeling Donna is behind this, somehow, despite a lack of hard evidence.

Serena is propping up the bar after Jason and Greta have gone on to the honeymoon suite at a local four-star for the night (one of Serena’s gifts to them) and the crowd at the reception has begun to thin as the responsible adults head home to their families and the singletons pair off for ill-advised trysts. Serena is still here, having exhausted her store of good cheer some several shots ago. She’s happy for her nephew and his new wife. Her family is thriving. For them, she is content. For herself, she is furious. Furious and aggrieved.

Her choice.

Serena made the right choice tonight, turning Bernie loose. Every glass and shot she has consumed without thought or question is a toast to how undeniably right that decision was. Love is patient. If Bernie is hers, she’ll come back someday. Love is kind. Letting Bernie go was kind, especially after all that’s come to pass. Love does not envy. Serena doesn’t envy Bernie leaving Holby back to Nairobi. Never before has a woman so deserved to live her dreams. Love does not boast. Serena has nothing to gloat about, least of all her loss and somebody else’s gain.

Ric swings by during his break to pass along his gift for the happy couple. He calls her designated driver as they’d previously arranged when he sees she’s three sheets to the wind and then some. He escorts her out and teases her about what a vodka aunt she’s turned out to be. She giggles about it. He’s right.

A modicum of sobriety returns to her when she sees who’s come to ferry her home.

Bernie is outside Albie’s waiting for her, leant against her car. The tip of a cigarette flares in the dusk. Ric pats her shoulder like he’s already heard and disappears in the direction of the hospital, leaving them alone.

Bernie stubs out her cigarette. “Good party?”

Serena crosses her arms. She’s not cold, not precisely. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t felt a chill. “Not as good without you to dance with.”

“Somehow I don’t think you wanted for partners.” Bernie opens the passenger door for her.

“You flatter me.”

“Someone should.” Bernie attempts a smile that fails to launch. “Come on, let me take you home.” She offers Serena her hand to brace herself as she climbs inside the car. Serena beams up at her, her dark, sad eyes, her rosy cheeks. Somehow she’d convinced herself that their earlier goodbye would be the last time they saw each other. Could be she’d hoped it would be. Less temptation to be a fool and renege on her good intentions.

“My darling Bernie. So noble.”

Bernie’s smile flares again, an ember in the dark.

“In you go. Watch your head.”

Bernie settles into the driver seat and away they go. Serena watches her handle the car, enamored of her graceful hands on the wheels the same as she watches her wield a scalpel. She might not see these hands in action again. She wishes she could hold Bernie’s hand, just once more. Hold Bernie once more.

“You came to get me. Why?”

“I’m your designated driver, remember? You gave me your keys.”

They pause at a red light. Pedestrians drift past them in coats and scarves. Little ones dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man toddle along the zebra crossing coaxed by loving caregivers. Serena’s heartstrings tug.

“That was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t. I wasn’t going to leave you stranded, or go without a proper parting. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Serena doesn’t think she’s imagining the hurt in Bernie’s voice. More blatant now she thinks Serena’s too sloshed to comprehend it, compounded now that Serena can’t seem to stop making it worse.

“I’d—I think I might be too drunk for this conversation.”

Bernie gets them underway again once the light changes to green. She could drive the way home in her sleep. How many nights had she pulled a pissed Serena out of Albie’s after Elinor? Before when it was kisses and laughter? Before when it was just laughter and long looks Serena couldn’t, wouldn’t comprehend? Serena’s lost count. She wishes there would be a lifetime more, but less drinking and more kissing. More laughter. More Bernie.

“You always were a chatty drunk. Once more for old time’s sake, let us know what you’re thinking.” Serena fixes her eyes on Bernie’s profile. The streetlights cast her in stark relief against the shuttered storefronts they’re driving past. Headlights strobe across the car’s interior, washing out the warmth of her skin and moles on her cheek. Making her thin lips pressed together in a moue of barely suppressed pain all but disappear.

“I miss you already.”

Bernie’s eyes stray from the road ahead to Serena.

“And I miss you. I hate that you won’t remember this conversation.”

“I haven’t had that much to drink.”

“You’ve been mixing spirits, I can smell them on you. You’ll be out cold in an hour, if not sooner.”

“Got me all sussed out, have you?”

“I used to think I had.” Her voice catches. Her hands tighten to bloodless white on the steering wheel. She lowers her head when they reach a stop sign. Her shoulders slump.

“I’m sorry I made a mess of us.”

“We both made a mess of us, darling. It takes two.” Bernie takes an unsteady breath and clutches at the wheel. Her foot jerks on the gas but eventually they’re on their way yet again.

“Please don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

“Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Not often.” At sad movies, when she talks about her father, and in the middle of the night with her arms around Serena daydreaming about the future no longer theirs to keep. Her daydreaming had helped Serena hold on when living in a world without Elinor seemed terribly bleak. “I didn’t want to make you cry.”

“There’s been plenty to cry about, hasn’t there? Our Jason’s a married man.”

“You did well with your reading.”

“I’m no Sir David Attenborough.”

“You have a flair entirely your own. No imitation necessary.” Bernie’s smile breaks free, shy but proud. She so wanted to be good for Jason. They have that in common. “Thank you for taking me home.”

“I’ll always come when you call, I told you that.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Good things don’t happen to Serena for long. This ending doesn’t even surprise her. In a way, it’s a relief not to count the day, the hours, the minutes and seconds till she loses what she loves next. But that doesn’t make the pain any less overwhelming.

“If life has taught me anything, Serena, it’s that ‘deserving’ has little to do with it. Things happen and we live with them. That’s all.”

“I will always be happy you happened to me.” Bernie breaks her self-imposed exile to clasp Serena’s hand on the armrest. It seems impossible that two hands that fit so seamlessly aren’t meant to always be entwined.

“I love you. Have I said that today?”

“It was implied.”

“Well, let me say it now, though I’m sure this memory will be lost like all the others. I love you, Serena. Always.”

“I love you, too.”

Bernie’s right, Serena’s on the verge of unconsciousness shortly after they arrive back at the house. Bernie takes her by the waist and guides her back to their—to her bed. Serena is anything but too pissed to see Bernie’s luggage by the door. She is, however, too exhausted to acknowledge them beyond vague pointing. Bernie shushes her and gets her out of her clothes and shoes into last night’s pajamas. Some part of her thinks Bernie’s done this too much. There’s a routine to it.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I told you, I miss you already.” Bernie brings Serena paracetamol and water. “Drink up and take this. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“You’re going to be magnificent for whoever loves you next.”

“So will you. Though maybe lighten up on the Shiraz until they’re used to you. Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”

“Are you calling me an alcoholic, Bernie?”

“I think you drink when you can’t bear to feel, and you’re hurting so you’re drunk.”

“My therapist would love this conversation.”

“Mine certainly will.”

“I love you.”

“You’ve said.”

“I’m not going to get to say it again, so I’m trying to say it until I run out of love for you. That way it won’t be wasted.”

“What an affectionate drunk I fell in love with.” She plants a kiss on Serena’s forehead. It lingers. “You are such a mess.”

“I am.”

Bernie sits down beside her and Serena rests her head on her shoulder. “We’re both a mess.”

“I used to think that made us a perfect match.”

“So did I. Matched jagged edges and all that. Isn’t that how they put it in the songs? Perfectly imperfect for each other?”

“Not sure what song that is. You were never any good with music.”

“Too much life-saving information banging around in my head to hold on to the trivial stuff.” Their hands find each other. Serena sandwiches Bernie’s between hers. She’s always liked holding on to her. “I had this funny idea once. I heard this song at the office, one night I was working late, and all I could think about was dancing to it with you at our wedding. Isn’t that bizarre? Us worlds apart and all I wanted was you in my arms, as my wife.”

“I had those dreams.”

“When did they stop?”

Serena sniffs to hold back a tide of snot that will make her even more unsightly in Bernie’s eyes. She doesn’t want to be remembered for the mess that’s left. She wants Bernie to have something lovable to remember her by. She wanted Bernie to remember her laughing in a conga line, clutching a bouquet that said she’d love again someday (though Bernie’s was the only face she saw when she thought of pledging herself to another for life).

“I don’t know.”

Bernie rubs her cheek into Serena’s hair. Serena’s heart aches. Tears drip from the corner of her eye to dampen Bernie’s coat, and she hopes the black will hide them.

“The thing is, I lied a little bit, earlier. I love travelling. I love seeing the world and helping people. I am content doing that. But happiness? Serena, I am never happier than when I get to be helping people beside you. That isn’t a demotion to me.”

“I know you’d be amazing anywhere.” Berenice Bloody Wolfe is a class act and the world is her oyster. Serena wants her to have that delicacy.

“Then why are you sending me away?”

“Because amazing _everywhere_ is what you deserve.” Serena pries herself from Bernie’s side to round the bed to her side. She still has a side. Bernie’s is the other. Her heart is in her throat and it hurts to speak around it, but she tries. “Nairobi is your dream. Fletch told me you said that.”

“I have lots of dreams, Serena, all of them wonderful, and all of them include you. If it doesn’t, it isn’t my dream, not really.” Bernie stands like she means to leave but her feet won’t take her. She’s still in her shoes, her scarf, her coat, like a visitor instead of someone ensconced in the home they share with their partner. Serena wants to tell her to come back to bed and sleep; they’ll discuss it in the morning. “When you told me that you couldn’t see me being part of your life, all I heard was you listing all the ways I’m not enough. Not maternal enough, not affectionate enough. Not supportive enough.”

Serena lurches across the bed. She’s unstable, doesn’t trust she won’t fall on her face. Bernie meets her partway and catches her before she topples. “No. No, Bernie, no, that’s not what I was trying to say.”

“Some of it’s true.” Bernie eases her down and they both sit, Serena on her haunches and Bernie against the headboard. Countless bouts of lovemaking have started just this way.

“You have loved me more than I deserved. You have kept me alive sometimes when I wished I was dead.” They don’t talk about those months often nowadays, not with each other. That doesn’t mean Serena forgets.

“Gratitude is kind, Serena, but it isn’t love.” Bernie chokes on the declaration. Serena grabs both her hands, her infamous temper a veritable powder keg after this much drink.

“You listen to me, Berenice Wolfe, love is not an issue. I love you, _desperately_. I love you enough to recognize I can’t give you what the world can. My world, the world I have chosen, is small and parochial and it’s probably not going to get any bigger than a honeymoon to Gdansk if I start feeling adventurous. I love you enough to let you go.”

Bernie’s brows beetle together. “I don’t want to be let go. The world you have, the world you shared with me is all I want. It’s not small, it’s not parochial; it’s everything. Jason, Greta, Guinevere, our friends here.” She pulls Serena’s hands into her lap. “I have wandered all my life, happily moving from one life’s purpose to the next. Healing is my purpose, where is incidental. I can do that here and be content. I can do that in Nairobi and be content. But I cannot do it anywhere and be _happy._ I’m happy here, with you.”

“Today. But tomorrow? When the wanderlust strikes and all you’ve got ahead is a trip to the park with our grandniece or a lie-in with your tired wife who just wants to sleep?”

“In what world, after the life I’ve led, would that be anything but a dream?” Bernie swallows. “I don’t want to wander anymore. Serena, I love what I do, but I have never had a home to call my own, not in the way I would want, not where I could be myself. I have a duty and I will fulfill it, but don’t throw me away because I’m…”

Serena shushes her, rises onto her knees to throw her arms around Bernie’s neck. “Hush, you’re perfect.” Bernie rubs her face into the shoulder of Serena’s silk pajamas.

“Don’t be grandiose, we both know I’m anything but that. I’m messy and inconsiderate. I’m—I’m secretive and at times—typically the worst times—awfully noncommunicative. These are things I know. But hear this, Serena Campbell, I know I will never love anybody like I love you.”

Serena rocks her side to side. All of this is hers in this moment. Bernie’s ropey embrace, her warm breath. Her tearstained face. Her bird’s nest of hair that can never be tamed in this life. How her limbs tangle with Serena’s like one creature split in two.

“The same goes for me. I know because every cell in my body is screaming at me to hold on to you.”

“What is it us physicians like to say? Listen to your body.”

Serena pulls away. She has to be the one. She started them on this path, though it’s one they both chose to walk. “I can’t ask you to stay.”

“You aren’t asking me to stay. Just…please don’t ask me to go. Please. I couldn’t take that again.”

“I love you,” Serena declares so that Bernie cannot doubt it, not now. Not for all their days, no matter what’s to come.

“And I love you.”

“Is it enough?”

“If we work at it. If we talk.” Bernie chuckles mirthlessly. “And yes I mean both of us. I’m as guilty of keeping secrets as you.” Whoever had turned Bernie’s head to whatever degree. Leah who turned Serena’s at her lowest.

“Sometimes secrets help.”

Bernie rejects that out of hand. She knows from experience how lies of omission can fester and rot the foundation of another wise loving home. “Ours don’t.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“So don’t. I’m here, if you’ll have me.”

“I’ve spent weeks telling myself I could let go of you when you’re all I want, but it has to be enough for you. I can’t look up in ten years and see you stifled. I can’t—I couldn’t live with you resenting me. I’d rather lose you when you still love me than watch that love die.”

“I’ve only been in love a couple of times, but Serena I know my love for you can never die. It just can’t.”

“Am I enough, are we? Is my world, this family— _our_ family, Bernie—is it enough to keep you going every day? ‘Cause if it isn’t, I’m begging you to spare us both.” Serena can’t watch her walk out again.

“You’re enough.”

“You aren’t only getting me. You’re getting Gwen and Jason and Greta and everyone who loves us.”

“Almost everything I need, then.” Cameron and Morven and Charlotte out in the world, growing more magnificent by the day. So long as Bernie can reach them, this could be enough.

“Stay? Please stay. I’m horribly selfish and getting you means I get away clean despite betraying you in the worst way. I take the blame, I’ll take whatever you think I deserve, just stay.”

“You didn’t do this by yourself. We both made mistakes. We took each other for granted. We both will get what we deserve.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” Bernie jogs her hand between them, bringing a fledgling smile to Serena’s face. “Hey, I thought I was meant to be the one begging.”

“This is a relationship, darling, we take turns.”

Bernie’s lips turn up in a small, joyful smile. Serena will never grow tired of how it lights her up from the inside out. “I like the sound of that.” She sobers. “But I propose a new rule. We discuss what we deserve and then we find it together.”

“We have rules now?”

Bernie traces Serena’s silver chain where it lies on her sternum. “If we’re going to spend our lives together, I think we’d better make some. Don’t you?”

“I can live with that.” Serena is overcome suddenly by a voracious yawn and rubs her eyes. This is has been the longest day of her life and she knows from long days.

Bernie gazes upon her sadly. Her chin wobbles when she speaks. “You won’t remember this in the morning.”

Serena blinks bleary eyes and wishes she’d skipped the shots and champagne and even the wine.

“Remind me. Be here.”

“What if you’ve changed your mind by then?”

“I won’t. Drunk or sober, my dream is you, you and me. That doesn’t change. You have all the pieces, you know everything I feel. You can leave and I’ll be none the wiser or you can be here, with me. The choice is yours.” Serena places her heart in Bernie’s hands and trusts her to care for it yet again.

“All right.” Bernie turns down the covers and tucks Serena in. Bernie lips on her temple are the last thing Serena feels before the emotions of the day and the spirits of the evening catch up to her. “Sweet dreams, Serena. I love you.”

*

Serena wakes to skewering rays of sunlight coursing through her bedroom window.

Her head aches though not as badly as she suspected it might the last time she was sober.

There’s a voice warbling in her shower. It’s one she knows.

Serena squints and very slowly sits upright in bed. Her bed is unmade on both sides. She checks under the covers to find herself fully clothed in her favorite pajamas. Her stomach complains after the night she’s had and Serena staggers to the bathroom before she makes a mess at the side of the bed. It’s been over a year since she drank herself ill.

The shower stops while she’s worshiping the porcelain god far too early on what has the makings of a beautiful, sunny day. The sink comes on and off and there’s the sound of slippers slapping the tile floor before a shadow looms above her.

Bernie’s expression is one of rueful sympathy and not a touch of schadenfreude at the state of Serena.

“You’re here.”

“I am.” She induces Serena to drink water until her nausea eases. She joins Serena on the floor and her hands are soothing, cool on Serena’s cheeks. “Mixing wine and bourbon and vodka and tequila was probably not your best idea.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. According to Fletch, you made an admirable spectacle of yourself in the process.”

“Oh no.” She’s going to be the talk of the ward come next shift.

“Don’t worry, you were perfectly appropriate, just…expansive.”

Serena clutches her glass like a life preserver. “I don’t know why, but…I’m so glad to see you.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like it sounds. I just…I was so sure I’d wake up alone and I didn’t. Why did I think I’d wake up and you’d be gone?”

Serena has never been happier to have that face next to hers. The night before is fuzzy and her mind shrinks from the most of it. Fragments include Bernie looking stricken and a pain in her chest. Bernie walking away. Dancing but wanting to be sick. She thinks being sick might still be in the cards, later on.

Bernie smiles at her and she sparkles with so much love Serena feels she must be shining too. She could never get enough of Bernie’s smile.

“I’m not gone, Serena, and I’m not going anywhere.” She produces a bottle of painkillers from the pocket of her robe and shakes out a dose to quiet Serena’s pounding head. “Take these and get yourself in the shower. Then, I think it’s time you and I had another little chat.”

Bernie leaves her with a kiss on her head and a spark of hope nestled in the cockles of her heart.

Joy might come in the morning after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/181660856620/fic-hang-a-shining-star)


	17. Day 17: You Can Plan on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte gets Bernie tickets to attend a taping of her favorite cooking show, The Saucy Chef. Neither of them counts on Bernie getting to meet the host.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berena Advent, Day 17: Pudding

Bernie props her tablet up on her kitchen table to watch while she eats her breakfast. It’s the new episode of The Saucy Chef that premiered while Bernie was on-shift at the hospital last night. Bernie nurses a soft spot for the cooking show, to say nothing of its delectable host. Serena Campbell is the UK’s answer to Nigella Lawson and she plays her part to the hilt. The smoldering eyes and comely smile. The soft dark hair and alabaster skin. The curves that refuse under any circumstances to quit. Suffice it to say, Bernie is a fan.

Bernie cooks fine for herself and her rare guests, if nothing as intricate as the five-course meals Serena customarily prepares, but it’s nice seeing it can be done. Serena makes the laborious efforts of prepping and seasoning and cooking and table-setting seem like more of a highly choreographed dance than an exhausting chore. Bernie chalks it up to her frequent celebrity assistants, her chummy relationship with semi-regular guest chefs from other programs, and the wine Serena adds generously to each and every menu. ‘You can’t go wrong with a good red,’ she always says and then drinks her fill.

October was a rare reprieve from Serena’s usual decadent partaking. Every October Serena goes cold turkey on alcohol to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Research. It’s a worthy cause and she always makes a killing, but she hates it and makes no secret of her disdain for going teetotal. She’s grumbly as a bear with a sore head on air, joking about longing for her wine cellar (they did an episode at Serena’s London home some years back; her collection is _extensive_ ) and dreaming about the south of France and Naples and Cape Town. It’s a running joke how much Serena loves her Shiraz. Charlotte joked once that Serena loves wine more than Bernie loves Cam.

Serena putters around her kitchen today, checking on the state of her beef bourguignon and the golden potatoes, focaccia, and haricot verts she’s planning to serve on the side. All is cooking nicely, exemplified by Serena humming a nameless tune and gliding from pot to pan to brick hearth. She’s known for her contented bobbing in front of a working fire. The kitchen must smell heavenly. Bernie pokes disconsolately at her porridge and wishes she were there.

Serena pauses at a clear patch of workstation occupied by a single wine glass and an open bottle of Serena’s preferred vintage. It’s been breathing off to the side since Serena signed on. She’s eyed it not a few times between vital tasks, her poignant yearning on the verge of comical.

“Excuse me a mo’, I haven’t had a proper drink in six weeks. I intend to savor this.” She peers seductively at the quarter-filled glass. “ _Come to mummy_.”

Bernie spits a mouthful of coffee back into her mug, coughing to cover her surprise.

“I did not know I was into _that_. Good to know.”

She rewinds the episode twice more just to be sure.

+

Bernie’s convinced she’s kept her fledgling crush on the show presenter entirely under wraps until Charlotte’s Christmas gift to her appears in the post a few weeks shy of Christmas Day. Bernie almost forgets to open the plain white envelope, anticipating something like a gift voucher for the off-license she frequents so often it’s become a part of her personal brand. When she tears into the deceptively slim envelope, she instead finds two tickets to attend a live taping of the Winter Holiday episode of The Saucy Chef hosted by one Serena Campbell.

 _Something I thought you might be interested in_ , reads the included note in her daughter’s bubbly handwriting. Bernie can hear how much Charlotte must have giggled writing it.

In any event, her daughter is right, Bernie’s very interested. She agrees to attend without putting up a fight.

+

The morning of the taping dawns cold and dreary, so standard really, and she and Charlotte bundle up to take the train to the studio lot at Elstree where The Saucy Chef tapes. It’s a hassle and a half but Bernie spends too much time conducting breathing exercises to feel anything more than distinctly nervous. The crew is polite and helpful when Charlotte gets them turned around on the way to the soundstage where the program films, and they’re shown to their seats with time to spare.

At half six on the dot Serena swans into the studio leading a small army of costumed Christmas elves. They have their arms full carrying silver platters piled high with all manner of edible goodness, the cinnamon and nutmeg-laden scent of which fills the air.

“We’ve got hot toddies, warm cider, and all sorts of toasty Christmas biscuits. Would anybody care for a nibble?” Serena offers, her distinctive timber cutting through the chitchat to tempt them.

Everyone would. The elves and Serena fan out to pass out the biscuits and beverages to anything one who wants them. When they run out, the elves dash off to retrieve another batch. Everyone eats their fill, Bernie not the least of them. She’s always wanted to sample Serena’s sweets and today’s her chance. There’s gingerbread and shortbread, cranberry-pistachio biscotti and sour cherry and stem ginger florentines to be had, hand over fist. Bernie and Charlotte share and swap, exclaiming over which they enjoy most.

Serena is a vision in a holly red jumper and smart black trousers, sidling down the front row of the audience and up the aisles to exchange greetings with everyone she can until one of the producers signals her it’s time to begin. Bernie shushes Charlotte when the QUIET sign mounted above the audience lights up. The selfies will have to wait till after filming. Elves in headsets scramble back and forth across the set to set out ingredients and ready the appliances. A makeup artist wearing a light-up Rudolph nose touches up Serena’s makeup. Serena raises a jovial eyebrow. The makeup artist sticks her tongue out at Serena and darts off before she can be reprimanded. Laughing, Serena takes her position behind her butcher block workstation.

Cameras are put into place. Crew members clear the set. A producer appears bearing a headset and a clipboard. The countdown begins. Bernie watches as Serena takes a great breath and puts her Saucy Chef game face on, the one that says she’s thinking up something terribly naughty she isn’t permitted to share pre-Watershed.

Lights…

Camera…

Action!

“I’m Serena Campbell or, as you may know me, the Saucy Chef. Today’s our Winter holiday episode and we’ve got plenty of recipes to get your chestnuts roasting quick, fast, and on time for dinner. Welcome to my kitchen.”

The show’s theme music kicks off to rounds of whooping applause from the audience. Charlotte shouts. Bernie honks without a care who hears her. Who knew being part of a live studio audience could be such a good time?

“We’ve got a busy show today and plenty to do. I could use some extra hands to get my kitchen in order. Would anyone care to assist me?”

Charlotte yanks Bernie's hand in the air. “This one, she’ll help.”

Serena points Bernie out to her assistant in the wings, stage right, and waves Bernie down. “Come give me a hand, if you’re up for it.” Bernie points to herself, her mien skeptical. Serena chuckles. “Yes you, dear. The pretty blonde with the cheekbones.” Bernie turns to Charlotte. Serena amends, “The age appropriate blonde with the cheekbones.”

“She definitely means you, Mum.”

“Smart girl.” She beckons Bernie to join her at the kitchen counter. “There's a darling. I don't bite—much, unless I'm specifically asked.”

Serena gestures for both women to join her on the soundstage. Bernie’s sure she must look a deer in headlights when she finds herself sandwiched between Charlotte and the Vetiver Rosewood-scented, twinkling presence that is Serena Campbell in all her splendor.

“What’s your name, lovely?” The grounding touch on her elbow indicates it’s Bernie she means.

Bernie swallows her nerves. “Berenice. Bernie. I prefer Bernie.”

“Unusually gorgeous woman, unusually gorgeous name. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” It’s a miracle her voice doesn’t crack on the second word. Charlotte’s muffled _pft_ indicates Bernie’s practiced stoicism hasn’t fooled her. Serena’s crinkled eyes confess the same and she squeezes Bernie’s wrist in teasing sympathy. She shifts attention to Charlotte to fill what might become an awkward silence.

“And who might you be, though I can probably guess the relationship.”

“I’m Charlotte. Call me Charlie please.” Serena shakes her hand. Bernie does her best not to overthink why Serena’s touch doesn’t linger on Charlotte as it has on her.

“Bernie and Charlie. Look at the two of you, a matched set. Aren’t you precious? Would the two of you mind giving me a hand? The production assistants will fit each of you with a mic pack and then we can get this show on the road.”

“We’re in,” Charlotte chimes for herself and her mother.

“Are you sure,” Serena directs at Bernie who hasn't spoken.

“Yes, sounds fun.” Bernie despairs at the thought of being on camera but she won’t pass up being near her Saucy Chef to avoid it. Cameron won’t let her hear the end of this, she’s sure.

“Splendid.” Serena claps. “Bernie and Charlie have kindly agreed to join me in making my customary Christmas pudding while my colleagues, Erica, Sacha, and Ric will lead on their pestiños, rugelach, and koesisters, respectively.” To everyone’s surprise, the sound stage doors open to admit several more rolling prep stations operated by production assistants and crew leading a parade of other BBC talent. Erica Martinez, Sacha Levy, and Ric Griffin take to their respective travelling sets to rousing, bewildered applause. “You're welcome to watch all the demonstrations and sample our wares. They're sure to be tasty and I dare not have them all myself, else I won’t fit in my car when taping’s over!” Bernie chortles and Serena favors her with a saucy wink. Charlotte elbows her with a meaningful wink of her own which Bernie ignores. Just a bit of friendly flirtation. Flirting is what Serena does. Nothing more to it than that.

Still, Bernie’s skin tingles where Serena touches her to direct her to the handwashing sink to clean up before they star. And where Serena’s hand lingers in the middle of her back to show her where to stand. Gentle touches asking nothing Bernie wouldn’t give. Bernie keeps her head down to hide her red face from her daughter’s insinuating grin. A harmless crush is all it is. She can do this.

With clear, concise instructions, Serena leads mother and daughter through preparing her signature Christmas pudding. Bernie’s tasked with finely chopping the almonds and candied peel while Charlotte handles coring and chopping her apple and shredding the suet. Serena juices and zests a lemon and an orange, keeping up soothing running commentary, asking after their holiday plans with assurances all personal details will be removed in post. Bernie admits to having few plans beyond a slew of holiday movies and dinner with colleagues. Charlotte reminds her she has a dinner with her and Cam to look forward to. Serena beams at them, a small dimple tucked away in her cheek.

“You’re adorable.”

“We are _not_ ,” they chorus. Adorably. Serena’s snorts and neatly changes the subject.

“Your knife skills are exceptional, Bernie. Do you practice at home?” Bernie slows long enough to realize she hasn’t done a bad job of her task and keeps going.

“And at work. I’m a surgeon. Used to be an army surgeon. Trauma. Front line.” She forces herself to stop talking lest she list out her entire CV.

“La dee dah, I’m dealing with a real professional, that’s even better. Thank you for joining me.”A hand on Bernie’s back again, warmth settling right through her jumper to the skin. Bernie doesn’t have to see her reflection in the camera monitor to know she’s red in the face and Charlotte is loving it.

At Serena’s prompting, they work the ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Pitted apricots, cherries, raisin, currants, sultanas, prunes, and melon that have been soaked overnight in rum and muscovado sugar are mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and almond flour. “You could use a mixer for this,” Serena remarks, demonstrating for them, “but I prefer to get my hands stuck into it. That way you know exactly what you're dealing with in consistency and texture. You can tell if you need more milk or fat or water and adjust accordingly.” She beckons them to join her at the feeling and lets them feel the sandy, chockablock consistency of their mixture.

“A bit like surgery, eh, mum?”

“Something like it, certainly.”

“Now let’s add in our almonds, ground almonds, butter, walnuts and breadcrumbs.” She grins at their scandalized expressions. “Don’t give me those looks. This is a special treat, rich as they come. We’re sparing no expense and _no_ calories. In it goes.” Charlotte wipes off her hands on a hand towel and slowly begins pouring in the requested ingredients. Serena and Bernie work it through, jostling each other for position and dough in the oversize bowl. Bernie flicks Serena’s thumb and gets a playful glare for her trouble that makes her grin foolishly. All right, perhaps Bernie has more than a small crush.

When all is mixed and well combined, Serena directs Bernie to cover to bowl in cling film and set it aside. It’ll need to sit for 24 hours.

“Since we’re on something of a tight schedule, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing another mixture. Charlie, be a dear and get it from the cupboard.” Charlotte bounds off to do as bid and returns with a mixing bowl of another color covered in film. “This mixture has sat for a tad over 24 hours and is ready to go once it’s in the basin. Bernie, prepare the pudding basin STAT.”

Bernie levies both brows.

“Isn’t that what they say in theater?”

“Not in any theater I’ve been in.” The audience laughs and Serena pouts entirely too attractively.

“Oh well, worth a try.” She tells Bernie what to retrieve from the shelves and how to butter the pudding basin. Serena pours and presses the mixture into the basin as Charlotte cuts and folds the baking paper while Bernie readies the tin foil and ties the kitchen string. The pudding is placed in a steamer where it’s meant to steam for seven hours. Serena narrates their activities for the audience as they go.

When Charlotte is tasked with retrieving the ready-made pudding Serena has on hand Bernie murmurs to Serena, “Just how many of these things did you have to make for this episode?”

“Darling, you have no idea.”

Together the three of them unsheathe a dense, fragrant Christmas sponge thick with fruit and nuts and smelling of brandy. Bernie’s mouth waters. She can’t remember the last time she has a proper pudding for the holidays.

Serena plates the pudding on a large porcelain plate and tops it with confectioner’s sugar and a tart-sweet cranberry compote.

“That looks gorgeous,” Charlotte exclaims, positively vibrating with childish excitement at getting her hands on what they’ve made.

“Amazingly done, Serena.”

“Amazingly done for all of us. I couldn’t have pulled it off quite this well alone. You two pull up a chair and get your plates. It’s time to eat. Bon appétit.” She turns her attention to the waiting camera on cue, gesturing expansively toward their creation and the mess they’ve made in the offing. “This is messy, delicious Christmas pudding done my way. Thank you to Bernie and Charlie for their invaluable assistance today and thank _you_ for tuning in. Happy stomachs and happy holidays from all of us here at The Saucy Chef.” She winks to the camera which pans away from the three of them digging into the decadent dessert with gusto.

The audience lets out its standard applause, half distracted as it is with the samples on offer from the other chefs, and it’s only then that Bernie remembers she’s in front of a live studio audience at all. She pauses with her mouth full of pudding to wave bashfully at the room full of strangers before resuming her indulgence. Who knows when she’ll get to try a Serena Campbell special again? She won’t pass this up.

Serena stands when ‘cut’ is called, mostly untouched plate in hand. “Well done, ladies.” Crew members scuttle across the set to start clearing the way for reshoots.

“Thanks for having us,” Charlotte replies almost incomprehensibly between mouthfuls. Bernie is certain she taught her daughter manners once, eons ago.

Serena leans on the countertop, seeming uncertain what to say for the first time since they met. Bernie slows her nibbling. Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“There’s network party after we wrap. You wouldn’t be interested in coming as my plus one, would you?” Bernie realizes she’s the one Serena’s talking to but it still takes an embarrassingly long moment for her request to sink in. “You’re _both_ more than welcome to join us.” Serena shoots what might be a guilty look toward a listening Charlotte. Bernie’s sure she must have heard Serena incorrectly.

“Is that allowed?”

“It isn't disallowed. Provided you’re on your best behavior, there shouldn’t be an issue obtaining permission for you to join me.” She glances between the two women. Charlotte’s look dares Bernie to refuse. “There'll be food in abundance, liquor flowing and endless bloviating about ratings and social media followings.”

Bernie wipes her mouth on a nearby napkin. “So a standard company holiday party?”

“Pretty much,” Serena permits with a small, fond smile, “but the food is much better than the average.”

“Well, how’s a girl meant to turn that down?” She lets a touch of flirtation enter her voice, because…because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Serena is flirting with her like she means it. The least Bernie can do is return the favor.

Serena clears her throat. “I'm hoping you can't. I'll be there all night if that sweetens the pot.”

“It does,” Bernie admits.

Serena reaches for her necklace to fiddle with the double charm, twisting it in long, nervous fingers. “Good.”

As it turns out, it’s _very_ good.

+

After taping wraps and the audience members have been shown out, Serena introduces Bernie to plenty of the program presenters for other cooking shows at the BBC. Fleur Fanshawe. Donna Jackson. Mo Effanga and her unlikely co-host Jac Naylor. Ric Griffin who teases Serena about her taste for soldiers and her weakness for rice plaintain cake. Erica Martinez who plies them with pastiños and seems anything but surprised by her having picked Bernie as her plus-on. Sacha Levy ho comes bearing many fabulous kosher desserts for Passover and several mouthwatering recipes. Bernie reminds herself to buy all their cookbooks the next chance she gets.

The spread of holiday delicacies available on-set put any dream Bernie might have had about craft service to shame. Everyone helps themselves as they mill about, talent rubbing elbows with crew and guests and BBC executives Bernie doesn’t know but senses earn more than she’s made in her 20-year military career.

While Charlotte toddles off at the first sign of a celebrity, Bernie sticks close to Serena, and not merely because they’ve linked arms and Serena seems in no rush to let go.

Bernie points out the table bearing The Saucy Chef insignia. It’s weighed down with platters already picked over by hungry hands. “Did you make all these?”

“Not without plenty of help from the elves at catering. Cooking for my family of three is sometimes more than my life's worth much less cooking for entire live studio audience.” Bernie remembers all the lush treats she had for breakfast, can’t imagine the hours it would take to do a fraction of that.

Serena offers her a savory treat. “Mince pie?”

“I should see if Charlie wants one.”

“I think my sous chef Donna’s got her taken care of.” She inclines her chin toward the tall-ish black woman with the riot of curls and a warm smile who Charlotte seems to be orbiting. Donna doesn’t seem to mind much at all. Bernie blinks, certain aspects of herself suddenly, blindingly obvious in her daughter. She isn’t the only one nursing a crush.

“Oh, that’s…fine.”

Serena squeezes her arm. “I take it you didn't know...”

“It explains a few things. It isn’t an issue for either of us.”

“Good to know we all have that in common.”

Bernie’s mouth goes dry and suddenly she finds it difficult to swallow. She blinks rapidly at the warmly knowing Look Serena sends her way. It ripples through her, hot as a promising touch, a kiss on the side of her neck.

“Er, what was your favorite of the four desserts made on the show today? You must have a preference.” Food talk, that’s what she comes up with. Brilliant. If for a moment Bernie sees a trace of disappointment in Serena’s expression she hides it quickly.

“All of them.” Serena tickles the inside of her wrist. “I never settle for one treat when I can eat my fill of them all.” The hair on the back of Bernie’s neck stands. She licks her lips and tries for a laugh that terminates in more of a pained croak. Flirting, definitely flirting.

“How did I know you wouldn't be the poster child for moderation?”

“Could be you've watched five minutes of my show.”

“At least five minutes,” Bernie admits. “More like five series and all the holiday specials on repeat. You made my military deployments surprisingly homey.” More so than terse letters from Marcus or weighty silences with Alex as she realized Bernie didn’t mean for them to go on.

“Did I? A girl likes to hear that. Is that what brought you to today's taping?”

“That was my daughter. She knows how much I like you.”

“Like me as in watching every episode or like me as in owning all my books or...like me as in more than a purveyor of ribald food puns?”

“The last one comes closest. The others are true as well. I don't have room for all your cookery books in my new apartment but I always take my number one with me.” 

“Number one?”

“Your memoir. I—I related to your relationship with your mother and daughter. I was my father's daughter too.”

“At last, someone who understands! Good, I’m glad you enjoyed the book.” She genuinely seems delighted at the feedback and Bernie lets herself be that much bolder in response.

“You're as personable on paper as you are on telly. Goes a long way on the front lines. You were a taste of home for all of us. I even took a whack at your bakewell tarts in Lashkar Gah. Five stars all around.”

“Marvelous. You’re…marvelous.” Bernie purses her lips and takes Serena’s weight as she leans against her side. They make the rounds of the crowded party, making momentary chitchat with whomever Serena seems fit to introduce Bernie to. They make for the drinks table and help themselves to cider for Serena and for Bernie mulled wine. “It’s interesting. You're the first female fan of mine to blush when I called her pretty.” She wets her whistle with her drink and her lips come away glistening. Bernie could pinch herself.

“I, erm, always turn pink at a compliment.”

“Well, you are quite lovely. I should think somebody's always telling you that.”

Bernie tucks a lock of flyaway hair behind her ear. “Not a lot of fawning when I'm in camo.”

“I don't know that I buy that, I wager you cut a dashing figure in uniform.”

“You think?” She wrinkles her nose, unable to envision herself through Serena’s eyes.

“I'm sure of it. You raise jeans to an art form as it is. How do you move in those things?” She threads a stealthy finger through Bernie’s belt loop and tugs. Bernie feels the pull in her stomach down to her toes. Heat flares everyplace between.

“They're only trousers.”

“Not from my front row seats. You are too attractive for anyone's good.”

“Even yours?” There it is, the boldness she put in storage when she came home from war. The boldness that sent her there in the first place. That made her kiss Alex back and over and over until her lips were all that filled her head. That make her want Serena’s there now.

Serena sways toward her, eyes liquid and rum-dark. “Especially mine.”

“Good.”

Serena gulps. This emotion that flickers in her eyes is anything but disappointed. Her grip on Bernie’s wrist grows almost painful, and Bernie’s heartbeat begins hammering in earnest when Serena closes the gap between them to stroke velvet-soft circles in the crook of her arm. 

“Fancy a tour of the set? It’s…dark now, not many people there. What with the weather.” Bernie’s forgotten it’s winter outside, so hot has it become right here in their little island in the chaos. She might be sprouting freckles for all that Serena keeps her warm.

Bernie’s skin prickles where she’s touched. Her breath comes short. “Love a tour.”

Serena beckons her away from all the people she knows, her nails tracing the sinews of Bernie’s arm till she finds her hand.

“Come along, Bernie.”

Bernie goes.

Fingers laced together, Serena leads her through the throng of cast and crew toward someplace quieter and less populated with watching strangers. Bernie takes a quick look behind her and decides Charlotte couldn’t be in better hands.

They stop under a mock doorway for a moment to bask in the muffled quiet. Parties can be so loud, even the ones you enjoy. Serena looks up and Bernie follows her gaze.

“Mistletoe.” Serena bites her lip, regarding Bernie from beneath her eyelashes. “You don’t mind, do you?” Mind having Serena here for the kissing? To be kissed by her. Mind? Bernie has never minded the idea of anything less or yearned for it more.

“Not at all.”

When Serena kisses her, it’s soft, wet, and endless. Bernie inhales all of Serena’s little sighs and gasps, greedily drawing her in to feel their bodies flush together. One of them moans—herself? Serena? Someone—helplessly and Bernie leans into it, sweeping her hand up Serena’s back to cup the elegant curve of her neck and prolong their kiss when it seems Serena might pull away too soon. Serena pants into Bernie’s mouth, hands twisted in the knit of Bernie’s jumper as if Bernie might escape. As if she’d want to.

The kiss still ends too quickly for Bernie’s liking.

“That all right,” Serena asks just to confirm.

“More than all right.” Bernie stares at her thoroughly kissed lips, asking herself if it isn’t too soon to lean in again. Providing she’s allowed. _Please let me._ “You taste like cider. Sort of. I had wondered.” She shuts her eyes in embarrassment before the words are entirely out of her mouth. _‘You taste like cider’? Really?_ Serena tasted like Serena and a touch of treacle, darkly sticky-sweet.

Serena’s amusement shines through her desire. “You wondered how I taste?”

Bernie raises a shoulder, refusing herself the opportunity to make a fool of herself again.

“I wondered the same,” Serena confesses and kisses her a second time. Bernie wonders no longer.

Serena pulls away minutes, possibly years, later. “That was. I…” She shakes her head, a daft smile taking up residence on her face. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve wanted to do that all day.” For longer, really, without any hope that she might get to. This is real, fantasy and reality colliding in some sensuous, lucid dream. Asking Bernie to wake up would be too cruel to bear.

“You did?”

Bernie confirms, shamelessly skating her hands over Serena’s curves till her knees shake.

“And I thought I was the saucy one.”

Bernie slips an arm around Serena’s waist, coaxing her in till there’s little but a breath of air between them. “Wait till I get you properly alone.” She kisses Serena once more, light as a butterfly kiss to feel her shiver, harder to hear her moan. “I’ll show you saucy.”

“My dressing room’s just there.” Serena indicates a corridor not far from here. “Why wait?”

“Lead the way.” 

When Bernie reluctantly lets go, Serena grabs her hand to press sharp, nipping bites to her fingertips and kisses to her palm. Bernie wants her lips, her teeth everywhere.

“Come along, Bernie,” Serena says, impish and seductive.

Bernie goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](https://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/186476991260/fic-you-can-plan-on-me)
> 
> I wanted to do the other six fics in this event but what with recovering from my recent surgery and preparing to start culinary school in the next few days, it just wasn't going to happen. If I ever get inspired to finish the other six, I'll just add them here. Otherwise, this is it. Thank you so much to everyone who's read, commented, and left kudos for this collection. It means the world to me. <3 I've got lots more Berena fic where this comes from, so feel free to subscribe if you like what you see. Laters~

**Author's Note:**

> I still post snippets of my stories on Tumblr at [sententiousandbellicose](https://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com). Come babble about Berena with me! Yes, I still write for them...constantly. I'm just terrible about posting things.


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